


Play Me A Memory

by jacaranda_bloom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Australia, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Niall and Liam are mentioned but don't actually appear in the story, Smut, Sorry!, Spanking, Strangers to Lovers, Top Harry, switching POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/pseuds/jacaranda_bloom
Summary: Louis lives with his nine-year-old son Jake in a peaceful beachside community on the east coast of Australia, working as an entertainment coordinator at the local five-star resort. Harry is a recluse who lives on millionaires row and writes musical scores for blockbuster movies. When the roots of a wayward willow tree create havoc at his home, Harry is forced to stay at the resort while repairs are carried out.Cue matchmaking storms, muffin preferences, laughter, love, and a whole lotta music.





	1. The Wayward Willow Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for choosing to read my little story, I really hope you enjoy it! I’ve loved creating these characters, their backstories, and the world for them to exist in.
> 
> Thanks to the mods for creating this wonderful fest and to all the other talented writers who joined in - please go and give their stories a read.
> 
> To my beautiful, patient, brilliant, encouraging cheerleaders/beta’s [ Rebecca ](https://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/), [ Nicola ](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/) and [ Emma ](https://justsomelarryfics.tumblr.com/) \- you're all amazing and keep me going when I want to kick my work to the gutter.
> 
> The commissioned cover artwork for this fic was created by the immensely talented Tanya (aka wilywolf). Please go and show them some love on [ Tumblr ](https://wilywolf.tumblr.com/) and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wilywolf92/).
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ jacaranda-bloom ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/) and if you’d like to reblog my [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/186469233158/play-me-a-memory-by-jacaranda-bloom-explicit) that would be lovely!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome - they make me so happy and I appreciate them greatly.
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> Note: A portion of this fic was co-written by a dear friend of mine who is no longer active in the community but was happy for me to expand on what they had written and turn it into this.

“Jake,  _ c’mon _ ,” Louis pleads. “Just this once, mate. Just once can we not go ten rounds on what you’re gonna wear and just get out of the house on time?”

Jake just stares up at Louis with an angelic look on his face, hands clasped behind his back, swaying side to side. One shoe is on his foot with the laces untied and one has been flung across the other side of the room and is currently resting comfortably in a pot plant.

To an outsider, the child before him would soften the hardest of hearts but Louis knows better, knows that behind those cool blue eyes is the mind of a schemer. Granted, an adorable, classical music loving, violin playing, sweet, artistic, whip-smart nine-year-old, but a schemer nonetheless.

It's hard to be angry with him, but it’s obvious this is all part of a greater plan to delay their departure to Holiday Camp, or as Jake persists in calling it,  _ Prison Camp _ . It genuinely eludes Louis how Jake can think a school holiday camp with fourteen other eight-to-twelve-year-olds and days spent playing sport and mucking about at the beach can be seen as a  _ prison _ but, whatever. This is Jake and he’s always been a law unto himself.

Jake likes the indoors, which is particularly inconvenient considering they live at the beach, like literally, on the beach. He loves swimming, but not the sand, the sun or the waves, and as the first step off their back deck lands you directly onto the crest of the Emerald Beach sand dunes, it’s a little hard to avoid.

Jake likes music, art, and reading, rather than footy and surfing like the rest of the kids his age. Not that Louis minds. He really doesn’t. His son’s interests and talents are a constant source of shared joy. But sometimes... Sometimes Louis would appreciate it if he could just suck it up and join in with the other kids - it’s not like Emerald Beach has a lot of alternative options for somewhere to hang out over the two-week school holidays.

“Okay, Jake, I get it.” Louis sighs as he kneels down on the whitewashed wooden floor of their living room, shoulders slumping and conveying all too clearly the beaten-man feeling coursing through his veins. Jake stands before him, arms firmly crossed in front of his chest in defiance, a small smirk creeping onto his face signaling that he knows he’s winning this one. “You don’t like the shoes. Fine. How about you go and pick a pair that you  _ do _ like?”

“Dad,” Jakes says in a tone that comes off disconcertingly like he’s the parent, not the child. “It’s not that I don’t like  _ this  _ pair of shoes,” he says with his lilting Australian-Yorkshire accent, a mishmash created from where he’s grown up, and Louis’ influence.

 

Jake points in disgust at the offending shoe for additional emphasis as though it is the root of all evil. “It’s that I don’t like  _ any  _ of them. Shoes are stupid. Shoes get sand in them and they hurt my feet.  _ You  _ don’t like shoes either so I don’t understand why  _ I _ have to wear them.”

 

Alright. So it's going to be one of those days then.

 

Ten minutes, and a few more projectile objects later, Louis is locking the door of their small beach house behind them. And if Jake happens to be wearing two different colored Converse then that's just the way it's going to be.

Stepping off their front porch and out from under the protective awning, the sun is already beating down on them.  _ Welcome to the Australian spring.  _ The harsh rays glare off the bonnet of his black Jeep soft-top, doing their best to fully ignite the headache that’s already building behind Louis’ eyes. Jake piles into the car grumbling something about calling children’s services as Louis loads his work gear into the boot and jumps up into the driver’s seat.

It’s been ten years and he still hasn’t gotten used to the unrelenting heat and humidity. As far as he’s concerned, it’s just not civilized to have thirty-two-degree weather at eight-thirty in the goddamn morning. How is anyone supposed to enjoy a cuppa when the water out of the cold tap is almost as hot as the water out of the fucking kettle?

The Jeep’s engine rumbles as Jake pops on his Bose headphones, swiping his iPhone to life. Yes. His nine-year-old son has the latest iPhone and a pair of four-hundred-dollar, top of the range, noise canceling headphones. They were both ridiculously extravagant birthday presents from his doting godfather, Liam, and Jake treats them like they’re made of gold.

Liam had justified the gifts by saying that every musician needed to be able to listen to music in its most pristine form without static or interruptions. Louis secretly suspects that  _ he _ was the interruption being referred to.

 

Louis had met Liam through the local footie team. Jake was barely a month old and after a sleepless night, Louis was practically at his wit's end. He’d taken a stroll around town with Jake bundled up in the pram and happened upon a match in progress on the oval. He and Liam had bonded immediately, drawn together by their English origins. Louis honestly doesn’t think he would’ve made it through that first year without Liam’s kindness and patience.

 

So yeah, his son has an iPhone which is only slightly smaller than his head, kitted out with a massive shock-proof, waterproof, drop-proof, everything-proof case. The case was a gift from his other self-appointed godfather, Niall, who perhaps understood the potential for damage given his own habit of dropping shit at inopportune moments. Niall, unlike Liam, hadn’t been around from the beginning but had swiftly woven himself into their little extended family once he’d arrived from Ireland. It had started as a one-month holiday with Liam, two old school friends reuniting after Niall had gone through a bad breakup, but that was four years ago. He’d set himself up in Liam’s garden studio and that had been that.

 

Louis is immensely grateful to have both Liam and Niall in their lives. They’re amazing friends to Louis and love Jake to the moon and back, and Louis smiles to himself at how lucky they truly are.

Louis reaches over and grips the back of the passenger’s seat headrest, reversing out of the gravel carport, tyres crunching the small stones beneath their weight. Turning the car around and making his way down the driveway, dappled light shines through the tunneled archway made of tall, imposing palms and eucalyptus trees, casting shadows through the windows and across his aviators.

Louis adores his little beach house. Waking up to the sound of the ocean crashing on the shore as he lays in bed is something he will never tire of. It's no mansion, but it's his. Or more correctly, it  _ will _ be his after another one-hundred and forty-four monthly payments. Not bad for someone who never thought he'd put down roots anywhere and certainly not on the East Coast of Australia. But life had other ideas apparently.

Driving down the main road of Emerald Beach, with his son gazing out the window listening contentedly to his music in the back seat, he watches the world around him as people go about their morning. This small community he’s come to call home, the houses, huts and caravan parks he passes all create a familiar patchwork painted in blues and yellows in case anyone needed an extra reminder of their oceanside location. Holiday homes, most of which are fully booked for the school holidays, each with heavily laden SUVs; surfboards and kayaks strapped to their roofs parked out front. The little strip of shops and cafes starting to bustle to life with holidaymakers out searching for a hearty breakfast before hitting the beach.

The town boasts a community of around three-thousand in offseason, but come September, this swells for the two-week school holidays; city folk heading north from Sydney or south from Brisbane to escape the rat race and breathe in the clean ocean air for a couple of weeks.

Leading up to the summer holidays in December, this number ebbs and flows before reaching the peak a couple of weeks before Christmas, when schools break for the six-week long main school holidays of the year. The town surges to overflowing, with every type of accommodation full to the brim and every inch of space in the caravan parks and camping grounds blanketed with pop-up tents and elaborate homes-on-wheels, scarcely a piece of earth not covered.

When the cooler weather swoops down in late April, it slows to mainly grey-nomads, retirees caravanning around the country and clogging up the roads. Not that Louis minds any of that. Without the tourists, he'd be out of a job.

Right. His job.

Louis sighs internally.

It's not that he doesn't like it. He's glad for it, really, he is. It's flexible and allows him to spend time with Jake without the need for babysitters. But running activities and events at Emerald Sands Resort can sometimes take its toll. People come and go on their holidays and he feels sometimes like he’s standing still. As though he’s frozen in time and life is happening around him, weighed down by the responsibilities of being a single father.

When he’d visited Australia after High School, he’d loved it. The open spaces, the freedom, the warm weather. He and his mates were on the adventure of a lifetime and Louis relished it. They'd planned it for years, and when it finally came, it was everything they'd hoped for.

They’d partied up and down the coast from Sydney to Byron Bay, sticking to the beachside towns and meeting so many wonderful people along the way. When they got to Byron, they'd joined up with a group of girls who’d been traveling south from Brisbane. They hung out for a week, drinking and dancing all night, and surfing all day.

Her name was Jessica Flaven. She was a sweet girl. Only eighteen, and just finished High School herself. With big plans to go to University and study Psychology the following year.

 

All of his mates were hooking up with the other girls and it just seemed to be the thing to do, so Louis had joined in. He'd never really questioned his sexuality. Guys and girls were all just people, and he liked them both. He'd never had a real boyfriend or girlfriend but had experimented enough to know that he was attracted to both.

But when he returned to England and got the call from Jess, he knew things were going to change forever. One night of carelessness was all it took to change the course of his life forever.

 

~~~~

  
  


“Mr. Styles.” A long pause. “Mr. Styles, this is Peter from Liam’s Limo Service, are you ready to leave?” A man asks through the intercom. It’s a simple enough question Harry supposes. And for most people, it would be an easy answer. For most people, packing up for two weeks to stay in a resort just down the road wouldn't present any kind of problem at all. But Harry isn't most people. Leaving his home, the comfort of his compound, the familiarity of his space, is daunting.

Harry turns and presses the intercom button on the kitchen console. “Yes. Just a moment please,” he says standing next to his kitchen bench, looking out over the dining room and into the living area. Vaulted double-height ceilings, expansive light grey walls covered in original artworks, large comfortable brown leather lounges and floor to ceiling, two-story, one-way glass windows which frame the beach and ocean on his doorstep and allow the sunlight to stream through. A chandelier hangs from the steel rafters above the dining room table bathing the long dark wood table in a soft golden hue.

In the corner of the room, raised on a platform sits his sleek black Steinway grand piano. When Harry sits and works, he has clear views to his left out over the sand dunes and to the deep blue ocean beyond. It holds pride of place in the stunning room, and for good reason. He writes best when he has a vista to inspire and calm him.

“Mr. Styles?” Peter asks again. “Do you require any assistance, Sir?”

“No, thank you, Peter. Sorry, I’ll be out in a minute,” Harry says into the intercom and reaches down and extends the handle of his suitcase, spinning it once on the cool, polished concrete floors and does one last scan of the room. Everything is neat and spotlessly clean. Meticulously organized like the rest of his life. Structure and order are paramount. It keeps him grounded.

He turns and flicks off the lights, takes a deep breath and walks through the grand entrance hallway to the front door.

The resort has been given special, and very specific, instructions in his emails about how his bungalow has to be arranged, the privacy, the layout. They know he is to be left alone entirely. No housekeeping, no room service, no unsolicited visits. The kitchen has been stocked with fresh food and there will be a delivery of new supplies every three days at a specified time. One-way glass has been installed, as has a grand piano and a large projector so he can continue to work. Everything he needs to be comfortable while the repairs are carried out on his home.

The repairs.

Who would’ve thought that the beautiful willow tree standing so majestically in the front courtyard would cause so many problems and that a root system could wrap itself so tightly around the water pipes that it could crack them, requiring two weeks’ worth of excavation and rectification actions? He didn’t, but apparently, the plumber and builder disagree. So two weeks at Emerald Sands Resort it is then.

Harry sets the alarm code and steps out into the daylight pulling the heavy, dark wood door solidly behind him.

Peter is standing under the vestibule next to a sleek, black BMW with tinted windows. Dressed in a suit, driver’s hat and black leather gloves, he looks every bit the part.

The rear door is open, engine humming quietly and boot popped at the ready as Harry walks towards it wheeling his suitcase along the large charcoal pavers.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles. Can I take that for you, Sir?” Peter asks as he motions towards Harry's suitcase.

“Thank you, Peter,” Harry says, handing off his suitcase and sliding his long legs into the back of the car, placing his laptop bag on the seat next to him.

As they make their way down the driveway, the imposing solid metal gate slides into its housing revealing the street beyond. Only a few properties have access to the private road to avoid the gawkers and unwelcome public intrusions. A local florist van drives past, ‘Payne’s Petals’ emblazoned on the side, as they wait for the gate to open, making its daily delivery to one of the other exclusive homes further up the road.

Harry likes it here. His house is stunning and has everything he needs. Tucked away from the world in his own private sanctuary. It’s better here.

 

Harry had stayed in England after the accident and throughout the inquest. He’d reached out to Owen’s family and had made whatever provisions his lawyers said he could. But it was a difficult time. The coroner had cleared him of any culpability in Owen’s death and had ruled the fall an accident, just a fanatical fan who took things too far in his quest to get close to the object of his obsession. Harry wasn’t even home when Owen scaled the wall of his London townhouse but he still felt responsible on some level. Would it have ended differently if he’d been there and able to talk to him? 

 

Harry shakes his head and stares back out the window. He can’t change the past.

 

Harry had buried himself in his music, his work. Writing passionate, soaring, uplifting scores to accompany movies he found it hard to care about but that paid him handsomely. His own writings though, the ones he kept only for himself were sorrowful, guilt-ridden pieces that he shared with no one. He poured out his emotions into the notes scrawled on the pages and allowed himself to plunge to the deepest, darkest depths of his soul. He became more and more withdrawn and after six months he’d decided that he needed to get away. Get away from everything.

So he left.

Employing a management company to take care of his affairs and the sale of his house, he packed up and headed away from England. Drifting from country to country, he explored. Looking for solace. Looking for the peace that eluded him. Never truly connecting with anyone or anything.

He was in Sydney when he saw the property at Emerald Beach advertised. It was perfect. Eight million dollars of perfect. He bought it sight unseen. After another million dollars’ worth of adjustments, he moved in and hasn’t left since. That was three years ago.

When you have enough money, everything can be brought to you. Food, clothes, doctors, work, everything. He withdrew from the world. Happier just to be by himself. Sealed off from human interactions. A recluse. It was better this way. Safe. But sometimes he yearns to be close to people again. To have someone see him. Maybe one day he’ll be ready. 

~~~~

Louis pulls into the car park of the local Scout Hall and knows something is wrong right away. For one, there are a bunch of stressed looking parents standing by their cars on their phones, children still buckled in their seats or playing on the grass off to the side, getting up to mischief. Secondly, the Scout Leader, Max, looks to be in a heated conversation with one of the parents, hands raised in apology.

“Aye up, Tonks,” Louis says as he kills the engine and leans out of the window.

“Louis, oh my  _ god _ ! Have you heard? What the hell are we gonna do?” Tonks’ asks, a worried expression written across her face.

“What do you mean, love?” A nervous expression settling over his own face.

“There's been an outbreak of gastro and the camp is cancelled.  _ Cancelled _ !!”

Fuck.

This is the only place in town taking kids over the school holidays and Jake is booked in for the first week, Liam and Niall pitching in for the second week. 

“Dad? What's wrong?” Jake asks from the backseat removing his headphones. “Is prison cancelled?” The smirk in his voice is crystal clear as excitement builds underneath.

Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

“Uhm... Stay in the Jeep, mate. Hang on. Lemme see what's going on.” Louis climbs down from the driver’s seat and starts to walk towards poor Max.

“Awwwww, no prison? So sad, so very, very sad,” Jake says, folding his arms and leaning them on the window sill, resting his head on top and grinning from ear to ear.

Little shit. Louis purses his lips and turns back towards the group that has now formed around Max.

“As I said…” Max sounds quite exasperated. “There's really nothing I can do. Three of the four teachers have taken ill and we have to have a four-to-one ratio - four students to one teacher, plus an overlap. My hands are tied. I am truly sorry, but you will all have to make alternate arrangements for the holidays. All I can do is apologize, and obviously arrange for the refund of your fees.”

Louis doesn't hear anything after that. Mind spinning with possible back-up plans. And… well there aren't any. So.

Fuck.

Louis climbs back in the Jeep and spins around in his seat to look at Jake who is still frustratingly sporting a shit-eating grin. Where the hell does he get this attitude from? Seriously.

“So. Change of plans mate. Camp is cancelled.”

“Awwww….prison is cancelled? Woe is me. So,  _ so _ very sad.”

“On the plus side, you get to come to work with me. Yay!” Louis says, an equally shit-eating grin spreading across his own face. Okay, so maybe he does know where his son gets it from. What _ ever _ .

“Ahhh. Jeez. Thanks, but no thanks. Just drop me off at home, driver.”

“Nice try, buddy. You're not old enough to stay at home on your own and you know it,” Louis says as he turns and starts the car back up again.

Jake glares at him in the rearview mirror. Clearly, this is going to be a shit day.

 

“Well, then why can't you stay at home with me? I don't want to go to your boring work. I don't even have my violin with me,” Jake whines as he crosses his arms over his chest petulantly.

Yup. Shit day.

“It'll be cool. You can hang with me at lunch and wander around the resort as long as you behave and don't go in the restricted areas or bother any of the guests,” Louis says, trying to sound positive.

“From one prison to another then…  _ fine _ .” Jake rolls his eyes dramatically as though the world is coming to an end.

Louis can't imagine where he gets his penchant for drama from. Oh, wait. Yeah, okay then.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Harry’s car turns into the long driveway at Emerald Sands Resort, palm trees and manicured lawns lining the way up to the main building, golf buggies passing by with happy looking guests being driven to whatever fantastically fun event is next on their holiday agenda.

 

Pulling up to the doors of the main reception area, Peter retrieves Harry's suitcase and hands it off to the porter.

“Good morning. Mr. Styles is here to check-in.” Harry hears him say and the porter scurries off returning with someone Harry presumes is the manager.

Peter opens Harry's door and steps to the side as Harry climbs out, hiking his laptop bag up over his shoulder.

“I'll leave you here, Sir. Have a pleasant stay and I'll see you in two weeks. If you need me earlier, please just call, you have my number,” Peter says, tipping his hat.

“Thank you, Peter,” Harry says with a small smile and nod before turning to be greeted by a slightly officious looking man in a black suit, hair trimmed in a standard short-back-n-sides style, golden name badge pinned to his breast pocket.

“Mr. Styles. Welcome to Emerald Sands Resort. I'm George Findlay, the manager,” he says, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Findlay,” Harry says as he shakes the man's hand firmly and smiles warmly from beneath his fedora. Yes, he's wearing a fedora, so sue him. He likes it and it tames his curls somewhat in the humidity.

“And you, Sir. Everything has been prepared as per your requirements. If you'd care to follow me.”

 

George waves Harry towards the large sliding doors that lead into the lobby. As they open, Harry is hit with a cool wall of air, a welcome relief from the morning heat outside. A huge floral display sits atop a round glass table in the center of the marble-floored reception area, a crystal chandelier drapes from the ceiling drawing his eyes up to a magnificent underwater-themed fresco. Wherever he looks, grandeur and opulence seep from every surface, assaulting his senses.

Chatter filters through the cavernous room, guests and staff going about their business. A tour group in one corner receiving instructions, a family standing, looking up in awe at the majesty of the images above them, snapping away on their phones.

To one side there is an archway into what appears to be lounge and bar area. To the back, open doors lead out to an internal courtyard with tasteful cafe seating, a large wall of water cascading down and pooling at the base in the rock formation.

George guides him over towards the reception desk at one end, away from the other guests’ queueing for attention. Harry can feel eyes on him, skipping the queue naturally draws attention, and then of course people get a look at him.

He understands he cuts an interesting figure. He's not exactly in beachside resort attire. Starting with his fedora and continuing down to his billowing baby blue silk shirt open halfway, his ripped black skin tight jeans and tan fringed suede boots. Granted, it’s nothing garish but add to that the necklaces, tattoos, shoulder-length curls, black Ray Bans, and ringed fingers and he understands why he attracts attention.

George moves behind the counter, punching details into the computer and retrieving a plastic room card and some paperwork, setting them both in front of Harry.

“As discussed, we have you booked into a private bungalow at the far end of the resort. The requested adjustments to the suite have been made and the items on your list have been delivered. The schedule is in place for your deliveries and the instructions regarding your privacy have been communicated to all staff.” George summarizes. “Of course, I am personally available twenty-four hours a day for any additional requirements you may have during your stay. My personal contact details can be found on the back of your room card. Please don't hesitate to make use of them at any time, day or night,” he says reaching into his inside jacket pocket and retrieving a gold tipped pen.

“Thank you, Mr. Findlay. I really appreciate all the effort you have gone to for me,” Harry says, taking the pen from George’s hand and signing the paperwork, only slightly embarrassed for the trouble they have gone to. He's paying them handsomely for it, but still, he feels a bit diva-ish nonetheless.

“I can assure you we are happy to oblige, Mr. Styles,” he says, a welcoming smile on his face.

“Harry. Please just call me Harry,” he says as he signs the paperwork and hands the pen back to George.

“Certainly, Harry.” George collects the paperwork and rounds the reception desk. “This is Bobby, he will escort you to your room via the staff walkways… for privacy.”

The same porter from the driveway appears by Harry’s side. He’s in his mid-fifties, hair groomed and donning the resorts uniform and similar name badge, although this time in silver. “Good morning, Sir. Please follow me,” Bobby says, turning and walking towards a side door next to the reception desk, Harry’s bag trailing behind him.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“Yes, Mandy, I appreciate this isn’t ideal but I  _ literally _ have no other alternative.” Louis stands before his boss with his son beside him who is making a valiant attempt to look angelic as sternly instructed by Louis before they walked into her office.

“I guess it’s okay,” Mandy sighs. “But seriously Louis, if anything so much as-”

“I  _ know _ , I know. He’s going to be a perfect angel. I promise. You won’t even know he’s here. He’s going to sit down at the end of the beach, away from the main guest areas and listen to music and read all day. All he needs is decent Wifi and a shady tree and he’ll be practically invisible. Trust me. It’ll be fine.” Louis assures her and even  _ he  _ doesn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but he’s stuck. So his son had bloody well better be on his best behaviour.

“Alright, Louis. I trust you.” Foolish woman, Louis thinks, grateful nonetheless. “Just keep an eye on him, yeah?”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” Louis flashes his winning smile, chuckling softly trying to keep his mouth from slipping into a smirk.

“Fine. Get out of my office then, you menace. The guests are waiting to be entertained,” she says, flashing her own smirk back at him and waving him away with her long, talon-like red nails.

“Thanks, Mandy, love you!” He shouts as he ushers Jake out of the office and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“You hear that?” Louis says, spinning Jake around by his shoulders to face him.

“Huh?”

“ _ Best. Behavior. _ Are we clear, buddy?”

“Yes, dad. Best behavior. Cross my heart and hope to die,” Jake deadpans, doing the actions to cross his heart in front of his chest.

Cheeky little shit.

“Right then. Let's get going. Guests to see, holiday memories to make!”

Jake rolls his eyes as they take off down the hallway, Louis carrying his bag of footballs and snorkels and other activity paraphernalia over his shoulder.

“What's the Wifi password, dad?” Jake asks as they head towards the last corner before exiting the office area and into the staff walkways.

Louis grabs his phone out of the back pocket of his khaki work shorts and starts flipping through his screens to find the login details.

“It's uhm… hang on…. Ready? The network is Emerald Guest and the password is Guest123.”

Jake punches in the login details.

“S’not working. Is it guest with a capital G?”

Louis rechecks his phone as they round the corner.

“Ah, yeah. Capital-”

Louis slams into someone and his bag goes flying, spilling his gear all over the floor, footballs bouncing up and back against the walls.

“ _ Fuck _ . What the hell mate?” Louis says as he drops to his knees to gather his things.

“I-I’m so sorry. Are you… okay?”

That voice.

Louis sweeps his fingers across his fringe and drags his eyes from the tan suede boots all the way up to the open shirt, tattoos peeking out at the arms and chest, up further still to the plump full lips and to... to a… Is that a bloody  _ fedora _ ? Jesus Christ.

Louis realizes his mouth is gaping open like a goddamn mullet and that just won't do. He slams it shut, teeth clanging together. Smooth, Tomlinson. Smooth.

Tall, dark and gorgeous sinks to his knees beside Louis, silky shirt billowing and falling perfectly over what appears to be a nice, taut stomach hiding underneath.

“Are… uhm… are you okay? I-I didn't see you there,” the stranger says as he starts to pick up some of Louis’ strewn possessions with his long, ringed fingers.

The words drip slowly out of his mouth like molasses, his deep timbre resonating in Louis’ head and leaving him temporarily at a loss for words.

“Sir, I'm so sorry,” Bobby says from above them both. “Please, Sir. He's fine. Let’s get you to your bungalow.”

It's a guest. A  _ guest _ .

“Shit- I mean… sorry, Sir,” Louis stutters out, collecting the last of the balls and shoving them back in the bag.

“S’okay,” the man chuckles as he stands.

“This way please, Sir.” Bobby gestures for them to proceed around Louis and Jake.

 

They walk away, Louis still kneeling on the floor, Jake beside him fiddling with his phone.

Louis can’t help but stare as the man sashays down the corridor. Who the fuck is that? Why is he in the staff walkways? Why is he dressed like a rock star? Oooo. Maybe he  _ is _ a rock star, it would make sense, still wearing his sunglasses inside and being escorted through the back-of-house to a bungalow, no less. Those things are damn expensive, up to ten-grand a week, and Louis ran him over like a freight train. Good career move right there. Nice one.

He’s still staring at this strangely put together man, his slightly pigeon-toed and booted feet clicking on the tiled floor as he walks away. Hips swaying a little more than would really be deemed necessary extenuating his pert little bum. Damn, that’s a nice ass, Louis thinks to himself, as an appreciative smile appears on his lips.

Naturally, given the brilliant way his day has been going thus far, this is the exact moment that tall, dark and mysterious chooses to turn his head and look back over his shoulder, catching Louis mid-gawk. Louis’ eyes snap up just in time to see a shy but welcoming smile spreading across his face, popping a dimple. Right. That’s it. Game over.

Louis feels a blush instantly rampage up his chest and neck until his cheeks are burning. And since when did Louis blush? But hang on. Is that a blush he spies on the man's cheeks too? Interesting.

Pink cheeks turns away finally and rounds the corner at the end of the corridor and Louis lets out an appreciative sigh.

“Fuck me...”

“Dad!”

“Whoops. Sorry mate.”

“Dad. Are you ok?” Jake asks quizzically, looking down at his father still kneeling on the ground.

“Uh. Right. Let's go,” Louis says standing up, shouldering his bag once again.

“Who was that?”

“Dunno, mate. But let's get outta here before I do anything else that could get me fired.”

 

They head to the storeroom and grab some other items, dropping them at the main activities center. Jake grumbling something about manual labour. Seriously? Where does he even get this shit from? He's like a complaining old-age pensioner trapped in a child's body. Manual labour? Give him strength.

They walk down the rainforest lined pathways towards the beach. The hot sun blocked by the canopy above. Birds and crickets and other creatures creating a natural soundtrack as they make their way through the grounds.

Louis sometimes forgets how beautiful it is here. Nothing but the best for the cashed-up guests. Meandering walkways, lush tropical rainforest and lagoons set the scene for holiday bliss. From the upscale apartments that look out over the ocean to the east or the mountains to the west and villas dotted around the multiple pools, to eco tree houses suspended in the rainforest and then, of course, the exclusive bungalows at either end of the beach.

They reach the end of the pathway and hit the sand.

“Urgh. Sand. What a joy.” Jake rolls his eyes.

Louis lets the comment slide. “It's still early, so there aren't too many guests around,” Louis says as he crouches down beside Jake. “You can head to the end of the beach and find a shady spot under a palm tree okay?”

Louis points towards the end of the beach to the south, just before the high rocky outcrops jut out and enclose the bay.

 

“I'll be down here for volleyball in a couple of hours and we'll go and grab some lunch when I’m done. Then I'll be back later for snorkeling and we can head home after that okay?”

Jake must sense Louis’ concern. “It's okay, dad. I'll be fine. Got my book and my phone plus my portable charger, my water bottle and snacks. I'm all good.” Jake nods, patting his backpack.

“Now remember to stay away fr-”

“ _ Yes, dad _ . Stay away from the water. Stay away from the guests. Be invisible. I remember.” Jake rests his hand on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis smiles. “Good man.” He stands and kisses Jake on the top of his head. “Call me if you need anything alright?”

“Will do!” His son waves at him as he walks off down the beach.

Right. Guests. Entertainment. Okay.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“Here we are, Sir.” Bobby gestures towards the door of the bungalow. Less of a bungalow really and more full-size house sitting proudly on the edge of the sand.

“Your luggage has been placed inside already. Would you like me to come in and show you around, Mr. Styles?” Bobby ventures, standing at the edge of the deck.

“No, thank you, Bobby. I can take it from here. I’ll be fine,” Harry says as he nods to the valet, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.

“Oh no, Sir. No gratuity necessary. Thank you for the thought though,” he says, smiling kindly. “Now if there is anything else you need during your stay, please don't hesitate to contact the concierge and someone will be right down. Just dial nine and you'll be put through to a direct line reserved only for you.”

“Thank you.” Harry extends his hand shaking Bobby’s, drawing a surprised look from the man.

“Y-yes Sir. Enjoy your stay.”

Harry gets why Bobby is slightly bemused by his behaviour. His strict privacy requirements at odds with the pleasant and friendly nature he is displaying. It's not that Harry  _ can't _ interact with people, it's just that he  _ chooses _ not to.

He turns and steps up onto the deck, covered on one side with a pergola, a gleaming stainless steel outdoor kitchen next to a table with seating for at least ten people.

To the other side, there is a lounge area, couches with soft turquoise cushions beckoning to be laid upon, surrounding a stone fire pit partially sunk into the deck.

Harry strides across the dark wooden boards and opens the sliding door with his card, the one-way glass hiding the interiors from prying eyes. The air conditioning has been left on and the cool air wafts out and over him.

It's just as stunning inside as it is outside, the decor is light and beachy without being clichéd. An open plan lounge and dining area leads onto the kitchen at the rear, all taking advantage of the beautiful vista.

To the left, a grand piano sits snugly in the corner bathed in light through the floor to ceiling windows. It’s been positioned so that from the piano stool Harry will be able to look back down the beach towards the main resort.

Harry closes the door behind him and breathes deeply. It's not home, but it will definitely fit the bill for two weeks.

He sets his laptop bag, fedora, and sunglasses down on the dining table and toes off his boots and socks, wandering around and checking to make sure everything is in order.

The kitchen cupboards are stocked as requested and the fridge is heaving with fresh produce, meats, and cheeses. White wine, champagne, and beers are chilling in the wine fridge with a fully stocked wine rack above housing the red wine he had requested and there is an abundance of fruit in the bowls in the countertop. Perfect.

Upstairs, he finds the two bedrooms and two ensuite bathrooms. All tastefully decorated. The requested toiletries having been supplied to his stipulation.

He unpacks his suitcase and then sits on the end of the bed before laying back and looking out over the cerulean blue ocean outside.

Cerulean blue. His mind wanders. The color seems familiar somehow….

Those eyes. Damn. The ocean is the same color as his eyes. Who even was that guy? So beautiful. Soft fringe, thin pink lips, sharp cheekbones and the longest eyelashes he has ever seen in real life.

But the eyes. He can't stop thinking about them. So blue and soulful with a kindness that Harry can't even wrap his head around. He could write symphonies about those eyes.

He's never seen anyone like him. Never felt a connection and attraction so instantaneously. He smiles to himself when he remembers the way he’d caught the blue-eyed angel checking him out. Perhaps he imagined it. After all, it's been years since he’s been out in public. He just, well, he just doesn't go out. He doesn't meet people. Certainly not people like that.

But then he recalls that he was with a young boy, his son presumably. Now that he thinks about it, there was a definite resemblance between the two of them.

He was in the staff section so he must work here. He wonders if he'll see him again. But then what would he do if he did? Does he even remember how to initiate a conversation with someone like that?

“Fuck. Get yourself together.” Harry sighs and lifts himself off the bed.

Right. Work time.

He makes his way back downstairs and goes about setting himself up at the piano. He’s currently doing the film score for the new Arnold Shelton epic and was sent through the rushes the previous night. It looks amazing, but it’s a Shelton film so that’s to be expected.

 

He’d read through the screenplay and cinematography summary a couple of months ago, so he knew what to expect, but seeing even the raw, unedited footage is mind-blowing.

Harry has scored the last two of Shelton’s films, earning an Oscar for the second. He's proud of it, of course. But it’s still surreal. Obviously, he doesn't attend the awards ceremonies. But the statue sits proudly on the mantle amongst his other accolades. Proof of his worth and talent, even if he is detached from the Hollywood scene itself.

He works away for hours, getting a feel for the unfamiliar piano under his fingertips and the acoustics of the room.

It has been quiet outside his bungalow. No interruptions. No passers-by. Just the sun and the waves and the palm trees setting the perfect tropical scene. He could make out a group playing volleyball down the beach earlier in the day and another group is now snorkeling off the shore, but none close enough to bother Harry, and with the one-way glass, his privacy is assured.

He decides to take a break and starts playing a couple of older compositions from other movies to clear his mind a bit before getting back to work.

Deciding on one of his favorite pieces from The Mind Awakens, a lesser known movie that he scored when he was barely 19, he starts to caress the keys, long fingers flying nimbly over the ivory. He closes his eyes and lets the tune wash over him, letting himself get lost in the melody as it crescendos, building to the dramatic interlude and key change, coming to a resolve briefly in the coda before building again in the last movement.

As the conclusion nears he opens his eyes and is startled by a figure on the pathway just past the end of his deck.

He's about to jump up when he realizes it’s a small boy, facing out towards the ocean, swaying with his head tilted to the side on his shoulder like he’s… like he's playing a violin?

Entranced, Harry continues playing the final movement.

As the boy sways he turns his body slightly and Harry can clearly see that he isn't playing a violin, in fact, he isn't playing any instrument at all. It's a stick. A long piece of driftwood tucked under his chin which he is bowing and fingering as if it were an actual instrument.

Fascinating.

Harry plays with fervor now, watching the boy build with him, perfectly in time. The boy has his eyes closed, lost in the music and matching the rhythm.

It's been years since Harry has played with anyone else, and okay, so this isn't technically playing with someone, but it’s damn close and Harry is… enjoying it.

The shock of his realization halts him in his tracks and he snatches his hands away from the keys as though he'd been burned.

He slams the top shut and pushes his stool away from the piano.

Silence.

The boy turns fully now. And it's him. The one that was with the blue-eyed man. He has a look of confusion on his face as he waits for a moment before shrugging and turning, walking back along the pathway to wherever he had come from.

“Fuck,” Harry says as he drops his head to the piano, elbows resting on his knees.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“So. How was your afternoon mate?” Louis asks as he starts up the Jeep, muscles aching and brain fried after a long day of entertaining guests. The humidity had been oppressive and the sun didn't let up all day. He's exhausted and for extra kicks, he gets to do it all again tomorrow.

“It was good, dad.”

“Glad you kept out of mischief, proud of you buddy. What did you get up to?”

“Not much. Just hung around. Listened to my music.”

“Oh. That's nice,” Louis says as he turns out onto the main road, not really paying attention to the conversation.

“Yeah. M’gonna take my violin tomorrow I think,” Jake says as he taps away on his phone.

“Mmhmmm… that sounds good.” Louis thinks about what to cook them for dinner. He’s pretty sure they've got some fish in the freezer. Score.

“I heard someone playing my favorite piece actually.”

“Yeah?” He thinks there might be some frozen chips too, maybe some salad stuff in the fridge as well.

“Yeah. I kinda played along for a bit, but then something happened and they stopped.”

“Well, that's nice.” Maybe they used the last of the tomatoes though. But there's definitely some lettuce and he's pretty sure he remembers seeing a cucumber behind the butter.

“Ugh. You're not even listening to me are you?”

“What? No, I am. Someone was playing music?”

“It's alright, dad. I'm gonna put my headphones on now.”

“Oh okay, mate. Sorry. Fish and chips for dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Jake says as he slips his headphones on.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Harry is chopping the rest of the vegetables for his go-to stir-fry, but he’s having trouble focusing on anything except for the unusual interaction from earlier in the afternoon. He's still not sure how he feels about it.

The wok is heated and smoking away, onions and garlic caramelizing in the olive oil. The snow peas, red capsicums, and leeks sizzle as he tosses them in, oil spitting and crackling while the aromas waft upwards, enveloping his senses.

He used to love playing music with other people; friends, colleagues, anyone really. But after the accident, he withdrew, it was just easier to be by himself.

He adds his sauces, spices, prawns and bok choy leaves to finish off. Flipping the wok and flinging the contents above the rim, the oil catching the heat of the flame and shooting a wall of fire up the back of the stove. He plates up his meal and heads over to the table.

Harry sits at the single place setting in the middle of the large dining room table and straightens his cutlery, placing his napkin on his lap. Taking a sip of his red wine he looks out through the glass doors and over the ocean, the almost-full moon painting a bright stream of light over the calm waters.

It’s beautiful and he immediately wants to be closer to it, feel part of it. Standing, he leaves his dinner to cool, picking up his glass from the table.

He walks over to the tall glass door and casts his eyes up the beach to the north and finds not a soul on the moonlit sands. Venturing out onto the deck he stops at the edge. He really doesn’t like the sand normally, but it looks so enticing with only the moonlight illuminating the ground-down shells as they twinkle in the light, mirroring the stars in the ink-coloured sky above.

He steps down and allows his toes to dig into the cool sand, sipping his wine as the cuffs of his jeans scoop up some of the stardust. Making his way towards the shore, the waves gently lap at the glass-like expanse of beach where the waters are ebbing and flowing, the gentle breeze rustling the palm trees, providing a soothing backdrop. He feels at peace but also senses an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. Like something is missing. Like there's an empty space inside of him.

He's been noticing it more and more of late. Just flashes and moments, nothing more. A glimpse, or a spark of a feeling, like a dream returning in the waking hours.

At twenty-five, he wonders whether this is it for him. Has his life reached a plateau? He has more success than he could ever have dreamed, is lauded in his industry and has the accolades to prove it, and his wealth affords him a comfortable life where he wants for not a single material possession.

But still, he wonders if there something missing.

The thought festers just below the surface, trying to break through the protective barrier he has carefully constructed. It’s been building for some time, although he's been able to block it and push it back down by focusing on his work, distracting himself.

But now, he senses this feeling is fighting to get out, to rear its head, unfamiliar, foreign, and strong.

This is a wanton need, not a painful regret, but a longing for something he has yet to find. For closeness, for companionship, for someone to share a moment like this with. Someone to look to the heavens with him, to pull down the stars and wrap them like a blanket around each other.

He startles out of his thoughts and looks out to the ocean, downing the rest of his wine.

“ _ Fuck _ .”


	2. A Storm Is Gonna Come

Louis wakes up to his alarm with a groan. His body aches from yesterday’s activities and whilst he accepts that he’s not getting any younger, he’s only twenty-seven for fuck's sake. It’s not like he’s ready for a retirement home so his grouchy old-man body can piss right off, thank you very much.

He feels for his phone on the bedside table and reefs the charger cord out and bats at the screen to stop the alarm, slowly forcing his left eye open as he tries to bring the screen into focus.

Hang about.

The display is still fuzzy, but as his one partially opened eye gets with the program he’s sure the numbers on the screen say seven-forty-five. He doesn’t need to get up for another fifteen minutes. Huh? Ooohhh, that’s right. It’s all coming back to him now. The extra fifteen minutes is to allow time for him to deal with whatever stalling tactic Jake has come up with this morning.

Right. Okay then. Up. Now.

Louis swings his legs off the bed with a sigh and stands, pulling on the joggers that he had left on the floor the night before. He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes as he stretches out his back, hearing a few pops as he reaches his arms up and over his head.

He's tired.

Serves him right for staying up too late watching the game last night, but that's the plight of a footie fan based on the other side of the world. Time zones are shit.

He wanders out into the kitchen, deciding that a cuppa is necessary before starting this morning's tug-of-war with his stubborn child.

Louis stops dead in his tracks.

Jake is sitting on the couch, headphones on, flicking through his phone, and he is- wait,  _ what _ ?

Jake is… fully dressed. Two matching shoes on his feet and everything. Louis is pretty sure he must still be asleep.

“Morning, dad!”

Louis nearly jumps out of his skin before he realizes Jake can see his reflection in the glass doors that lead to the porch.

“Morning, buddy,” Louis says, bemused, as Jake takes off his headphones and heads over to the table.

Louis shuffles into the kitchen still slightly stunned and fills the kettle, grabbing his mug out of the dish drainer on the sink and the milk from the fridge.

“What do you want for breakfast?” He calls out from behind the counter as he gets his own bowl of cereal ready.

“I’ll just have some cereal too, thanks,” Jake says as he sits down.

Well, this morning is weird. Jake is dressed and happily conversing about breakfast but Louis is more than happy to go with the glorious no fighting, no drama, start to the day, whatever the reason.

They sit and eat their breakfast in comfortable silence, both flipping through their phones

“So. Big plans for today?” Louis asks and he spoons some more cereal into his mouth.

“Told ya. Gonna take my violin with me and see if that person is playing the music again.”

“Ah ok. Make sure you don’t-”

“-bother the guests. Yes, dad,” Jake finishes for him.

Louis rolls his eyes and reaches out for the empty bowls.

“It’s okay, dad. I’ll wash-up. You’d better get ready or we’ll be late,” Jake sing-songs with a smirk, grabbing the bowls and heading into the kitchen.

 

Smart arse.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Harry didn’t sleep well. Worse than usual and that’s saying something. His mind still struggling to process the events of the previous day.

For the first time in three years, he had left the self-imposed confines of his home, ventured into the world, and actually interacted with people. But it was all upside for him, particularly the albeit brief encounter with the beautiful blue-eyed man, the images have carved out their own little space and taken up residence in his consciousness.

He’d played music with someone. Not in the traditional sense, of course, but it was close enough for him to realize that he’d enjoyed it and perhaps, dare he say, even missed it.

But the real pull-at-the-thread revelation that had thrown him completely off balance was the acknowledgement that perhaps there is a void somewhere inside that he might want to fill. He’s not quite ready to admit what he wants to fill it with just yet, but he has a sneaking suspicion that his brain and his heart are suiting up for an epic battle in the not too distant future.

He continues to let the thoughts mull over in his mind as he watches some of the rushes for the film and takes copious notes about the scenes and style and story that he will need to convey in the score. By mid-morning, he’s seated at the piano and about ready to start on a background piece for an emotionally charged romantic scene when he hears it.

It's soft and quiet at first, but the music is so recognizable to him that there can be no doubt. It's  _ his _ piece. Someone is playing his music. He snaps his head to look out the glass doors and sees the blue-eyed man’s son, standing under a palm tree just off to the side of the deck.

 

The boy is playing a violin, but not just playing, playing well, amazingly well for someone his age. It's beautiful. He is crafting a lilt to the notes that makes the music soar and dip just as he had always intended it to and in a way few manage to convey. Harry watches and listens in awe for a few minutes, just enjoying the sounds and letting them wash over him.

His hands reach for the keys, trembling and he places them over the notes.

Can he?

He waits as a nervous excitement builds in his veins. And then…

His playing is tentative at first, unsure, stilted. He watches for a reaction from the boy and on cue, he turns and smiles, upping his tempo and egging Harry on to build his own speed and force.

Harry responds as though his hands are disconnected from his body, running their own race regardless of what instructions his brain might be trying to send them.

The violin and piano are engaged in a call and response, bar for bar, conversing and singing to each other, matching each other with every run and trill. It's addictive and electric and Harry hasn't felt this alive in years.

The piece concludes and Harry’s hands still over the keys, hovering, frozen in place as the boy lowers his violin and bow by his sides.

 

Then with a flourish, he repositions them and starts playing again. It’s another of Harry’s pieces, this time one of his upbeat and more well-known scores.

 

Harry joins in at the end of the phrase and they play with abandon. Harry is smiling almost manically, the rush sending him on a high he hasn’t felt in what seems like an eternity. The boy, too, is swooping wildly, fringe in his eyes as he lifts and bends to force every ounce of emotion out of his instrument.

 

They play for hours, piece after piece from Harry’s repertoire.

 

As lunchtime draws near, the boy stops to check his phone.

 

“Hey! Whoever you are,” the boy shouts towards the house as he starts to pack away his violin into its case. “I gotta go have lunch with my dad now, but I’ll be back after!”  

 

It’s on the tip of Harry’s tongue to reply, but he stops himself.

 

The boy picks up his gear and slings his backpack over his shoulder before skipping off down the pathway back to the main area of the resort.

 

Harry sits dumbfounded. What the fuck just happened?

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“Louis!” Mandy calls out from across the courtyard, running towards him.

“Hey, Mandy, y’alright?” Louis stands from where he had been packing away the soccer gear from the last activity and tilts his head in amusement. Mandy doesn't usually run and seeing her teetering on her stilettos trying to avoid the cracks in the pavers is quite the sight.

“ _ Louis _ ,” she says breathlessly as she reaches him. “There’s a huge storm coming. The mobile towers are out already and we’ve just initiated the emergency lockdown for the resort. Where’s Jake?”

“ _ Fuck _ . He’s all the way down the southern end of the beach.”

“Go! Don’t worry about all this. We’ll get everything closed up. Just go get him.”

“Thanks!” Louis shouts as he drops the soccer net and races out the door.

He darts in and out between the huts and villas, cutting through the brush and across the lawns, leaping over low chain fences and ducking under awnings. His heart beating a million miles an hour.

As he gets closer to the beach, he can just start to hear the storm rumbling off in the distance behind him, like it’s chasing him down. Storms that come in over the beach can be bad, but the ones that come in over the mountain range are much worse. They drop like a ton of bricks with little to no warning and have been known to last for hours as the storm, pushed forward by the warm air from inland, fights the cool air of the ocean for dominance.

When his feet hit the pathway leading towards the end of the beach, he starts calling out.

“Jake! Jake!”

Nothing. Damn. He probably has his bloody headphones on. Louis is getting breathless but feels like he could run forever as the adrenalin shoots around his body.

“ _ Jake _ !”

Then he hears the violin and it’s possibly the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It’s off in the distance, but coming closer with every footstep.

Finally he’s rounding the end of the pathway and sees Jake standing under a palm tree, happily playing away, oblivious to the danger approaching.

“ _ Jake _ . Thank god,” Louis huffs out as he leans over, bracing himself on his knees while he tries to catch his breath.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Jake asks as he stops and brings his violin down to his side.

“Buddy.” He breathes deeply, standing upright. “There’s a huge storm coming, we’ve got to-”

_ FLASH _

A huge bolt of lightning chooses that moment to streak across the sky, lighting up the earth. Louis startles and looks up, ominous black clouds closing in on them, cascading down over the mountains and darkening the heavens.

He starts counting in his head.  _ One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, thre- _ and then there’s the whip of the strike followed by the rolls of thunder, growling loud and low. Shit, the storm is moving fast, practically on top of them already.

“Quick, Jake. Grab your gear, we’re gonna have to make a run for it,” Louis says, keeping an eye on the storm clouds overhead.

_ FLASH _

_ One-one-thousand, tw-  _ the ear piercing crack of thunder is almost instantaneous, which means it’s too late, the storm is already here.

“Excuse me. Is everything alright?”

That voice.

Louis drags his eyes from where they’ve been fixed on the sky and… it’s him. The rock star.

“Hey. There's a huge storm coming. You had better get back inside and batten down the hatches,” Louis says, pointing to the bungalow as Jake jogs towards them with his backpack and violin.

“Uh yes, the concierge just called through on the land-line,” the man says with a concerned look on his face.

 

“Anyway, we’d better go. Jake c’mon.” Louis grabs Jake’s hand but as they turn the skies open and hail starts showering down on them.

“ _ Fuck _ !” Louis exclaims, leaning over Jake protect him.

“You'll never make it!” The man shouts out above the thumping of the hailstones. “Just get inside!”

“You sure?!”

“Of course!”

Louis turns and picks Jake up under his arm, jumping up onto the deck and running into the house, the man close on their heels.

Louis sets Jake down and the two men work quickly, hailstones bouncing off the deck and into the living area as they slide the bi-fold doors from either end and secure them in the middle. Louis races over to the controller for the storm shutters and closes them, noise is deafening but lessens slightly once the shutters are completely down.

“It's an electrical storm so we’ve gotta unplug everything. If you sort out upstairs, I'll deal with down here,” Louis shouts over the thunder and hail as Jake stands frozen on the spot in the middle of the living room.

The man gives him a thumbs up and takes off towards the stairs, leaping three at a time as Louis starts madly reefing every power cord out of its socket in the kitchen and living areas.

It only takes Louis a few minutes before he’s back at Jake’s side. “It's okay buddy. We’re safe in here,” he says, rubbing up and down his back, trying to abate his fear as he moves them over to sit on the couch.

“Loud,” Jake says, voice slightly trembling.

Louis pulls Jake up onto the seat between his legs and wraps his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Yeah, I know. But it's alright, we’re just gonna hang here until the storm passes, yeah?”

 

The man comes bounding back down the stairs and Louis turns to watch him as he walks over, fingers running through his hair and brows furrowed. He looks up and startles, steps faltering as if he’s surprised to see other people in his bungalow. But as he comes closer, a kind smile spreads across his face and Louis returns it easily.

 

He sits down on the coffee table in front of them and clasps his hands on his knees. “You both okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Uhm… so I’m Louis and this here is my son, Jake.”

Harry extends his hand, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’m Harry. Nice to meet you both.” 

Louis grips Harry’s hand without shaking. Lingering a bit too long now that he's getting an up-close look at the rock star, his big green eyes, so deep and thoughtful. Louis could easily get lost in those eyes and never come up for air.

 

The hail is starting to ease off, replaced by heavy pounding rain and strong winds whipping the palm trees against the building.

 

“Thanks for letting us stay,” Louis says, his voice lower now that the hail has stopped.

 

“Of course. The concierge said the storm was going to be a long one but that it should start to calm a bit by the early hours of the morning.” Harry speaks in this mesmerizingly slow drawl that has Louis fixating on his mouth, watching as he forms the words carefully before letting them drip from his mouth.

 

“Wow. Really?” Louis asks as he stares at Harry’s pastel pink lips.

 

“Guess that means you’ll be stuck here for a while.” 

 

Louis breaks himself away from his gaze and snaps his eyes up to Harry’s, realization dawning on him.

 

“Shit. I’m so sorry. We’re intruding,” Louis says as he drops Harry’s hand, looking down. “We’ll be out of your way as soon as the storm eases off enough for us to make a run for it back to the main resort.”

 

“No!” Harry exclaims and then gathers himself, a slight blush spreading up his neck. “I mean no, that’s not what I… I mean I didn’t want to make you…”

 

“You okay there, rock star?”

 

Harry chuckles. “Sorry. I don’t talk to people much. What I was trying to say is that I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome. You can stay here as long as like. S’just me here anyway.”

 

“Thanks, Harry. We appreciate it, don’t we, Jake?”

 

“Yeah…” Jake agrees but his interest is already elsewhere. He extracts himself from Louis’ embrace and wanders cautiously over to the piano, looking back and getting a nod of approval from Harry.

 

Louis watches as Jake runs his fingers along the sides of the black grand piano in the corner, clearly in awe. “Our one at home isn’t a patch on that one.” 

 

“You play?” Harry asks, head snapping back to Louis and looking at him with wide-eyed awe.

 

“Yeah. A bit. Just to help Jake out. It’s tough keeping up with him though. He’s quite the talented young violinist,” Louis says proudly.

 

Harry throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, I know. Don’t worry. I’ve been trying to keep up with him all day!”

 

“ _ Ohhhh _ so that was you? He mentioned something about that yesterday.”

 

“Yeah. That was me. We had quite the fun day today actually. Him outside under the palm tree, me in here trying to match him. He must have a good teacher.”

 

“She’s alright. But I think Jake has kinda surpassed her abilities, to be honest. He also trains online with a group from the Sydney Conservatory which my mate Niall found for him. They’re excellent and he really loves that. They’re more at his level and can push him a bit.”

 

“Yeah? That’s excellent. He’s incredibly talented. You must be very proud,” Harry says, turning to look back over at Jake, who is inching around to the keyboard nonchalantly like they both aren’t aware of exactly what he’s doing.

 

“Yeah, I am. Really proud,” Louis says wistfully. “Reckon he’s got designs on your piano at the moment though. Jake!” Louis yells. “Don’t touch th-”

 

“No, no. It’s fine, he can play.” Harry motions to Jake with his hand, earning a beaming smile in return as Jake jumps up onto the stool and starts to tap away, the storm still too loud for Louis to hear the tune over the rain and wind.

 

“So…” Louis says, trailing off.

 

“So…” Harry replies and then startles. “Shit. I’m such a terrible host. Can I get you both something to drink?” He asks and jumps to his feet, gesturing towards the kitchen.

 

“Oh. Yeah. Uhm sure. Lead the way,” Louis says as he stands, not taking into account the fact that Harry is still standing right in front of him between the coffee table and the couch. By the time realization dawns on Louis it’s too late and he finds himself wholly within Harry’s space, staring at his chest as it rises and falls. He can smell him too and it’s an intoxicating combination of vanilla and cinnamon and goodness and  _ man _ and Louis can’t breathe or move or think.

 

He looks up and scolds himself internally because Harry doesn’t move away, he just looks down at him fondly, long curls falling forward just to taunt Louis further. Louis thinks he might just melt into a puddle on the floor like those hailstones that leapt inside when the storm started.

 

He can feel Harry’s breath on his fringe and Louis’ feet won’t move, his brain seemingly incapable of making anything useful happen either.

 

“After you,” Harry says, placing one hand on Louis’ upper arm and the other waving him towards the kitchen.

 

The touch is electric and shoots sparks around Louis’ entire body. Seriously though, who is this guy? Louis really needs to get it together. He’s just a guest, just some guy. Except for the bit where he’s been playing music with his kid all day and the bit where he touched him unnecessarily and the bit where he keeps smiling at him and looking at him fondly. But that’s absolutely all it is.

 

Louis turns to walk away, his feet finally deciding to get with the program for a second only to find some sick humour with the situation and he proceeds to trip over Harry's feet. Nice. Louis flails and of course, Harry catches him. Big hands coming to his hips to steady him.

 

Louis blushes like an idiot. “Sorry,” he manages to get out before righting himself and taking off into the kitchen hearing Harry chuckle lowly behind him.

 

Cheeky shit.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


So there’s a guy in his kitchen. A guy. Barefoot in his kitchen. Harry is still processing.

 

He’s gorgeous, is the thing. Eyes like the ocean just as he remembered, his hair is all soft and feathered and falling over his forehead in a beautifully effortless wave. And the cheekbones, Jesus fucking Christ, the cheekbones. He is dainty but kind of manly at the same time and it’s driving Harry insane. He really needs to get it together

 

“Wine or beer?” he asks, trying desperately to get his voice to sound normal, only right now he can’t actually remember how his voice is supposed to sound so the entire exercise is futile.

 

Louis leans back against the kitchen island and Harry isn’t sure whether he’s actively trying to be seductive but that’s certainly the way it comes off. “Uhm, wine, please, if that’s okay?” 

 

“Sure. Red or white?”

 

“Red, please, can’t stand white wine, tastes like vomit,” Louis says and pulls a face like a toddler who has been asked to eat brussel sprouts. His ability to go from sultry to cute is maddening.

 

Harry chuckles at the contradiction as he heads over to the wine rack, pulling out a few bottles, turning them over slowly and surveying the labels. He doesn't want to come off as a complete wanker by picking some thousand dollar bottle, but he's going to struggle to find something that isn't obviously expensive. Perhaps Louis isn’t much of a wine connoisseur and won’t notice the difference. “Yeah, some of it is complete shite, but I’ve learned to appreciate it over the years and found some that aren’t so bad,” Harry offers in solidarity.

 

“Over the years? Seriously? Are you like fifty or something? Appreciating wine as you shuffle along with your zimmer frame into your twilight years?” Louis jests, a smirk very apparent in his voice.

 

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” Harry deadpans, sensing Louis is staring at him and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Not in the way it usually feels, self-conscious and wanting to hide away, but in the other way, and that’s something he hasn’t felt for a very,  _ very _ long time.

 

He takes a deep breath to calm himself and selects a bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild. It’s a nice wine, only six hundred dollars a bottle. Not as nice as some of the vintages he has in his own cellar, and not even the best he has here, but still a good drop.

 

Harry grabs a corkscrew from the drawer and turns, placing the bottle on the island bench next to Louis.

 

“Old school cork, eh? Cool. I thought everything came with a screw top nowadays,” Louis comments wryly as he leans his elbows back on the counter. He is so effortlessly sexy and Harry averts his eyes as best he can.

 

“Yeah. This wine is a bit older. You know, for those of us hobbling into our  _ twilight years _ …”

 

“Touché, young Harold, touché.”

 

Harry smiles at the nickname. “Can you grab us some glasses from the cupboard?” He asks, gesturing to the cupboard behind them as he peels off the metal wrapper on the top of the bottle.

 

Louis pushes himself off the bench and grabs two red wine goblets from the cupboard, placing them next to Harry and leaning down on the granite top.

 

Harry uncorks the bottle with a little flurry and pours them both a glass, handing one to Louis. “Colour me impressed. Done that a few times then?” Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry feels a slight blush spread across his cheeks at the compliment. “So rock star… what brings you to our little resort then?”

 

“M’not a rock star.”

 

“Right. Of course not,” Louis says smiling mischievously as he takes a sip of his wine.

 

Harry cocks his hip and leans up against the counter. “What?”

 

“Okay. Maybe not a rock star, but you’re staying in a ten-thousand-dollar-a-week bungalow, you’ve had a grand piano moved in and you’re casually serving up a six hundred dollar bottle of wine to some strange bloke you brought in from the weather,” Louis says as he cranes his neck over Harry’s shoulder to scan his eyes over the wine rack. “Which, I might add, you’ve selected from a little stash that also includes at least one eighth hundred dollar bottle of Penfold Grange, a couple of fine Shiraz’s from the Henschke Hill range that retail at around seven hundred bucks each, and a few Le Petit Chavel in the two to three hundred dollar price bracket. So yeah, maybe not a rock star, but you sure ain’t no insurance salesman.”

 

“Maybe I’m just a _really_ _good_ insurance salesman…” Harry says with a wink and a smirk and takes a long sip of his wine, eyes never moving from Louis’.

 

“Well, I’d buy whatever you’re selling so yeah, there’s no denying you’ve got skills.”

 

Harry’s throat suddenly feels like it’s closing, like he can’t get air in. He’s getting in over his head. Who even  _ is  _ this guy?

 

“Alright. I’ll bite. How do you know so much about wine anyway?” Harry says, trying to break the spell long enough to suck in a breath.

 

“Used to work as a cellarman at Jewels, the A La Carte restaurant here at the resort.” Harry listens intently, fascinated and tips his head encouraging Louis to continue. “Anyway, the money was good but the hours were shit and meant I had to have people looking after Jake all the time, which kind of cancelled out the extra cash.”

 

“Do you look after him on your own?” Harry asks, knowing he’s prying but he wants to know everything, he can’t help himself.

 

“Yup. Just me and the little man, always has been.”

 

“Oh. I’m sorry. That must be hard.” Harry says, looking over to Jake playing happily on the piano.

 

“Nah. It’s fine. Great even. We’re a good team.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that, he seems like a good kid and so talented,” Harry says as he casts his eyes over to Jake as well. 

 

“Yup! Lucked out there big time, I reckon.”

 

“Wanna sit?” Harry says, gesturing to the lounge.

 

“Sure. Mind if I just grab some juice for Jake first?”

 

“Absolutely. Sorry. Shit. I really am terrible at this hosting thing,” Harry says, shaking his head and moving towards the fridge, pulling it open and surveying the contents, harder to see without a light as everything is still powered off. “I’ve got apple and orange, I think, and maybe some sort of guava and pineapple mixture.”

 

“Apple’d be great. Cheers.”

 

Harry hands him the juice and they head over to the couch, Louis setting Jake’s juice down on the table beside the piano.

 

“You okay there, buddy?” Louis asks Jake, giving him a small pat on his head. The boy nods but doesn't stop playing. Now that he's closer, Harry can tell it's another of his own songs. Does this kid know his entire repertoire? Amazing.

 

The storm is still raging outside, wind howling through the trees and whipping up the ocean into a frenzy, waves pounding on the shore. But it's warm and safe inside and Harry is more than enjoying the company, surprising as that may be.

 

They talk for what feels like hours. In-depth and personal, sharing so much for two people who are basically strangers. It should be awkward, but it isn't. It should be freaking Harry out, but he feels more comfortable than he can remember being around someone in forever.

 

Louis tells him how he came to be in Australia, how he and Jake's mother had sorted out custody and why he's still here. He tells him about Jake growing up and about his friends, Liam and Niall.

 

Harry tells Louis about the repairs on his house and why he’s staying at the resort. He feels nervous and vulnerable but is adamant that he wants to share as much as he can.

 

“So you’re  _ the _ Harry Styles? Harry Styles, the lauded composer of all of my son's favourite pieces? Harry Styles the Oscar winner?”

 

“Uhm… yeah?”

 

Jake has joined them on the couch too, leaning back against Louis’ chest and staring up at Harry in awe as he talks about his writing process and his life. He even shares some of his past too. Some. Not everything. But as much as he feels he can for now. Certainly more than he has shared with anyone in the last five years.

 

“We’re in the presence of greatness here, buddy,” Louis whispers to Jake as he places a kiss on the top of his head.

 

Harry smiles, a small blush creeping over his cheeks. “Dunno about that. But yeah, I do okay for myself.” 

 

“So all these songs Jake plays, including the ones I've tried to learn, are yours?” Louis is looking at him with wide-eyed awe and it's nice. Really nice.

 

“Yeah. It's weird. This...” Harry says gesturing vaguely between them. “I haven’t really uhm… spoken to anyone about my work for a long time. Not in person. It's just been a creative process for a while now.”

 

Harry can tell that Louis wants to delve more into his statement but thankfully he lets it slide, for now.

 

“Well, I think you're amazing,” Louis says and Harry can see the moment Louis realizes the inference and watches as the blush extends up from his neck and across his jaw. “I-I mean. It's cool. The music, that is. Yeah. Cool,” Louis stammers. “Anyway… it’s gonna be nightfall soon,” Louis says, trying admirably to recover. “All the houses and villas have an emergency kit with candles and torches and stuff. We should get everything set-up before it gets dark.”

 

“Yeah, good idea,” Harry says, deciding to return the favour and let Louis off the hook momentarily. “How about you get that sorted and I’ll get us something for dinner. I’ve got some salad stuff and cold meats that will still be alright. Wanna give me a hand, Jake?” Harry asks as he stands and picks up their wine glasses and the empty bottle from the table.

 

“Sure thing!” Jake leaps to his feet and runs past him into the kitchen.

 

“Now if only he would do that at home,” Louis chuckles, standing up and stretching out his back. “I think you might officially be his favorite person in the world.”

 

Harry smiles shyly and tries desperately not to stare at Louis’ elongated form as he stretches. But his eyes have a mind of their own and refuse to cooperate, trailing over his taut stomach hidden just below the surface of his cream-coloured Emerald Sands polo-shirt and belted khaki shorts.

 

He imagines taking hold of the hem of the shirt and lifting it up slowly, over his chest and arms and neck, freeing Louis’ body from its confines and displaying it in all its glory.

 

He imagines running his fingertips over his skin, eliciting goosebumps and tracing every curve and sinew, every muscle, every  _ everything _ .

 

Of course, he realizes too late that Louis has caught him out, but the damage is done. Louis looks at him and cocks his head slightly to one side, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

 

“Shit. Sorry. I'll just uhm...” Harry says awkwardly.

 

“Dinner?” Louis says softly.

 

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles. “Dinner.”

  
  


~~~~

  
  


So, Harry was checking him out. Well, that was… unexpected? Certainly not unwanted, but unexpected nonetheless.

 

He’s in the laundry room at the back of the bungalow rummaging through the cupboards to locate the emergency kit, while he tries to process all the information he now has about this guy, this enigma.

 

He's heard rumours, of course, about the mysterious recluse that lives up millionaires row. Small town gossip mainly. Ridiculously absurd stories about him being horribly disfigured or an underworld boss or Mick Jagger’s love child. Actually, that last one isn't too far off, Louis jokes to himself.

 

But the man happily chatting with his son in the other room doesn't match up with any of those labels. He's so open and welcoming. Shy, to be sure, nervous and a bit clumsy with his words like he's out of practice, but so kind and patient and, fuck, so beautiful.

 

Louis would very much like to crawl into his embrace and stay there forever. Which. Okay, this is insane. He's known Harry for mere hours but the connection is undeniable, so apparent and glaring he can't ignore it, can't be imagining it.

 

He grabs the emergency kit and sets it on the laundry bench to check the contents. Torches, candles, candle holders, waterproof matches, bottled water, first aid, a deck of cards… he chuckles to himself.

 

“What is it?” Harry asks, startling Louis and he turns to find the man in question leaning against the door jam, wiping his hands on the tea towel thrown over his shoulder.

 

Louis holds up the deck and quirks his brow. “Fancy playing some cards?”

 

“Sure. But the only card games I know involve shot glasses…” Harry says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

 

“Oh  _ really _ ?” Louis smirks and two can play at that. He lowers his voice so there’s no chance of Jake hearing. “Well, the only ones I know involve taking our clothes off one piece at a time, so we’ve got some interesting options there…”

  
  


Harry’s smile turns into a cheeky grin as he whispers, “Perhaps we can combine both options… the night is still young.”

 

What is Louis even doing? Is this full-on flirting? He needs to shut his mouth before he wades further into these dangerous waters.

 

Harry winks and pushes off the door as Louis turns around to pick up the kit. He feels a sudden swoosh of air and then a sharp sting on his arse, snapping his head around to find a smirking Harry with the offending tea towel held loosely in his fingers.

 

Louis’ mouth gapes open. “Did you just…  _ flick _ me?” Louis asks incredulously.

 

Harry just shrugs and giggles before backing out the laundry room.

 

Who  _ IS  _ this guy? No seriously. Come the fuck on.

 

So this is... unusual, Louis thinks to himself when he finally gets himself together enough to return to the kitchen. What gives? This guy is hot, rich, talented, smart, funny, kind, cheeky and great with kids. Exactly what’s wrong with him? Why is he hiding away here in a tiny coastal town on his own, cut off from the world? Louis reasons that he must be missing something. There’s clearly more to this than what appears on the surface.

 

He’s intrigued and desperately wants to complete the puzzle but first, composure. Yes. He can totally do that. Sure he can, he thinks as he valiantly tries to damp down his own internal eye roll. Who the fuck is he kidding? He's never felt less composed in his goddamn life.

 

Shaking his head, he grabs the candles out of the kit and goes about setting them up in the living room and kitchen. The sun has started setting and although some of the ferocity of the storm has certainly eased, heavy rain and winds are still battering the house. 

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“Okay. I’ve got one. Favorite pizza topping?” Harry asks as he takes another sip of wine, eyes glancing over to Jake sleeping peacefully on the couch, throw rug draped over him. His gaze travels back to the vision sitting across the table from him. His sun-kissed skin glowing in the candlelight, eyes twinkling like they’ve captured constellations from the night sky.

 

“Wow. Really going for the hard-hitting and in-depth questions there, Harold,” Louis chuckles. “Uhm… I’d have to say prosciutto, ricotta, English spinach, pine nuts, and sun-dried tomatoes, and it’s got to be wood-fired. Sorry, I know it sounds pretentious but I love it.”

 

“What, no pineapple?”

 

“What!? Oh my god, absolutely  _ not _ . Are you kidding?” Louis slaps his hands to his cheeks feigning shock.

 

“Right, right, fine. No need to be so dramatic. What kind of adopted Australian are you anyway? Don’t you know it’s practically law here to put pineapple on your pizza?”

 

“Wait, so  _ you _ put pineapple on your pizza?”

 

“Absolutely! I love it. Can’t have a pizza without it. I’m a proper Aussie, mate,” Harry says drawling his words with a horrendous mock-Australian accent while trying desperately to hide his smirk. He lasts all of five seconds before his shoulders start shaking and a giggle escapes his mouth, along with a bit of red wine.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“God no. Pineapple on pizza is sacrilege. Give me some credit, please,” Harry splutters and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and watches in delight at the crinkly smile that accompanies the beautiful lilting laughter of his companion.

 

Louis crosses his arms on his chest and tilts his head to one side, considering Harry for a moment. “Well, well, well Styles, I see I’ll have to add cheeky little shit to your catalogue of attributes then.” 

 

Louis is so open and free with his emotions. Harry is both jealous and in awe of him. This man that quite literally fell into his life, with commotion and chaos, much like the storm, forcing his way in and staking its claim to be where he rightfully belongs for however long he chooses.

 

Harry smiles big and wide. “You have a catalogue of my attributes? Really? How very...intriguing. Care to share?” He goads with a lift of his chin and raised eyebrows.

 

“Hmmm… maybe later. But for now, I think more wine is in order,” Louis says with a smirk, holding out his wine glass.

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Harry nods as he refills Louis’ glass and his own. “How about I do a quick-fire five questions which we both answer?”

 

“Sure. Fire when ready Captain,” Louis says, sitting up straighter in his chair.

 

Harry decides to start off with something relatively benign. “Boardshorts or Speedos?”

 

“Boardshorts,” Louis responds and Harry can’t help but think that’s a crying shame.

 

“Same. Apple or Android?”

 

“Apple.”

 

“Me too. Uhm… cats or dogs?”

 

“Shit. Ahhhh… can’t choose. Both, I guess.”

 

“Ha! Same here. Good answer. Board games or Video Games?”

 

“Video games for me, mate. I could blame Jake but that would be unfair. Actually, I think he plays just to humour me. You?” Louis asks sheepishly.

 

“I wanna say board games, ‘cause I love a good game of scrabble, but...”

 

“But what?”

 

“Well. Don’t judge, but when I finish a job, my guilty pleasure is to spend an entire day and night eating junk food, sitting on the couch in my pyjamas playing… FIFA.”

 

Louis’ smile threatens to take over his entire face as he looks back at Harry with sparkling eyes. “Really? Why on earth would I judge you? You’ve just described what I want to do every single Sunday of my entire life!”

 

Harry smiles softly and looks intently into his wine glass, taking another long sip. He’d better slow down, he can feel his inhibitions lowering, his self-control ebbing away. Another few glasses and he’ll be parking himself in Louis’ lap and petting his hair or just slinging him over his shoulder and-

 

Louis clears his throat, thankfully interrupting that train of thought. “Okay. Last question, Styles. Make it a goodun’.”

 

Harry considers for a moment. God. There are so many things he wants to ask. Deep, thoughtful questions that allow him to peer a little further into Louis’ soul. Silly, frivolous questions to make Louis laugh so he can catch another glimpse of that sparkle in his eyes. Practical, logical questions to help him build a more rounded picture of Louis’ life. In the end though, his brain kind of runs away with itself and…

 

“Uhm… muffin top or muffin bottom?”

 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he wants to reach out, take hold of them, strangle them a bit, stomp on them, and shove them back down his throat. It seemed an innocent enough question before he put voice to thought, muffin preferences in Australia being a thing people are very passionate about, so much so that you can even purchase packs of muffin tops on their own. Harry’s quite partial to the blueberry ones, but… god, what is he thinking, he needs to refocus and try and salvage this conversation.

 

Maybe Louis won't notice. Maybe he'll show some mercy and let them glide right past. But then Harry sees the tremble on Louis’ lips as he tries desperately to hold back the laughter threatening to burst out of him, tears welling at the corner of his eyes, breath held in his lungs.

 

“D-did you just… I mean, sorry, did you-” Louis stutters.

 

Harry feels the embarrassment of his words spread across his face, as though the heat of a thousand suns are beating down on him. “Oh god. Please don't. Louis I didn't mean-”

 

“You want to- you want to know whether I prefer top or bottom?”

 

The air is still and Harry feels like the world has stopped. He can barely even register the storm howling outside over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

 

And then Louis breaks, uncontrolled laughter spilling from his lips, punctuated with sporadic cackles loud enough to almost drown out the wind and rain battering the bungalow.

 

“Of a muffin!!! A  _ muffin  _ Louis!! Oh god. I'm such an idiot,” Harry says as he hangs his head and hides face behind his hands. He may never recover from this and it was going so well too.

 

Harry uncovers his face and looks up as Louis’ laughter eventually subsides. He wipes the tears from his cheeks, the last few chuckles escaping as he picks up his wine glass and takes a long sip, eyeing Harry through his lashes.

 

Placing his glass down on the table, he clears his throat again. “That, my dear Harold, is the most ridiculous question I have ever heard.”

 

Harry just sits and stares at him for what must be an inappropriate amount of time. But then he figures he's all-in at this point so he's just gonna roll with it. Honestly, how much worse can it get? “Ridiculous perhaps, but I still want an answer,” Harry says, holding his wine glass firmly, a slightly smug expression on his face.

 

A look that resembles something like respect washes over Louis’ face. “Well. I could come up with some ridiculous metaphor about baking or something equally diversionary, but, we’ve been honest with each other thus far and I kind of like that, so…”

 

Louis pushes his chair back from the table, and gets to his feet, cradling his wine glass in his upturned palm, the stem hanging between his index and middle finger. As he rounds the end of the long table and starts moving towards him, Harry can’t get air into his lungs, he can almost feel the oxygen being sucked out of the room. He desperately wants to turn and look at Louis, but in addition to being unable to breathe, every muscle in his body seems to have packed it in as well.

 

“I like to consider myself an equal opportunity muffin connoisseur,” Louis starts, his raspy tone filtering into Harry’s ears. “I think that tops and bottoms each have their own special appeal and I know some people have a definite preference, but not me. Although, if I had to go back, and forth. Back. And forth.”

 

Harry can feel him moving closer, sliding his bare feet across the wooden floors, edging closer and closer, taking another step with each word.

 

“If I absolutely had to choose...” Louis says, barely a step away from Harry now and squarely in his peripheral vision.

 

Harry can smell him. Like rain and sweat and good wine and man and it's the sexiest thing he's ever smelt in his entire life. 

 

“If I had to, state a preference…”

 

He feels Louis lean in, reaching over Harry's shoulder to place his wine glass in front of him. He can feel the warmth emanating off his body. Harry wants to turn his head and bite into his bicep, run his tongue along the inside of his elbow, taste him, savour him. He feels hot air ghosting over his cheek sending a shiver through his body. His toes curl and his fingers grip his wine glass so tightly he's afraid it will shatter in his hand. He's never wanted something or someone so much.

 

Then Louis gently but firmly places his hands on Harry's shoulders and almost imperceptibly brushes his lips on the outer shell of his ear and Harry nearly dies.

 

“Then I guess I'd have to say… bottom.”

 

Everything stops. There is no other way to describe it. The world ceases to spin, the air that was thin already is gone, and the earth’s poles demagnetize.

 

Louis is lingering at his ear, hot breath on his neck making the hairs on his entire body stand on end. Then with a small squeeze of his hands on Harry's taught shoulders, he's gone.

 

Harry breathes out, mouth gaping and eyes fixed firmly on the window panes ahead that are now reflecting the candle-lit interior. He watches the retreating image of Louis in the reflection and tries desperately not to swallow his tongue.

 

_ Fuck _ .

  
  


~~~~

  
  


_ Fuck _ .

 

Louis needs to get a grip. What the hell was that and where did it even  _ come _ from?

 

His heart is rabbiting in his chest and his palms are sweaty, thoughts swirling in his head as he walks into the kitchen even though he has no idea what to do once he gets there, his need to make a grand exit more important than a purpose. He doesn’t know if Harry is watching him or whether he’s left him completely dumbstruck, he hopes it’s the latter. He stops at the back door and peers out into the night, the protective awning rendering shutters unnecessary. Huh. The storm has stopped. They’ve been so rapt in each other he hadn’t even realized. He opens the door, a waft of humid, damp air caressing his face and he inhales deeply, the scent of rain and earth filling his nostrils.

 

Louis doesn’t hear Harry come up behind him, just feels the warmth of his body close, so close, but not close enough.

 

“It’s over then?” Harry’s breath ruffles the wisps of hair near Louis’ ear, a shiver coursing through his muscles as he tightens his fists at his sides, trying to control his reaction.

 

“Mhmmm…” Louis manages to get out.

 

“It’s late. We should get Jake upstairs to bed,” Harry says, voice quiet and Louis wants nothing more than to turn around and bury himself in Harry’s chest. He wants to hold him and be held by him, wants to run his hands all over his skin and drink him in until he’s drowning and gasping for breath.

 

“You’re sure it’s okay if we stay?”

 

“Of course. You’ve had too much to drink to drive and the roads will be a mess after the storm anyway.”

 

The touch is light, at first, just fingertips on the sensitive skin of his upper arm, trailing down, flittering, nervous. Louis doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a single muscle. Harry’s hand slides down and wraps around Louis’ elbow, making him feel weightless, with only Harry’s contact to ground him. The rain drips from the awning, splashing onto the ground in an uneven rhythm as night birds call in the trees beyond, creating a cacophony of sounds. It’s making Louis’ head spin.

 

With his other hand, Harry rubs the backs of his knuckles over the base of Louis’ spine, from the middle and out to his hip, squeezing as he leans his head over Louis’ shoulder, not touching, but just the mere possibility has Louis tilting his head and offering up his neck involuntarily. He wants Harry to sink his teeth in, to claim him, mark him up, and it’s ridiculous. He barely knows Harry, but at the same time, he feels so connected to him. He can’t explain it, can’t fathom how this has happened so quickly, but he wants him, perhaps more than he’s ever wanted anything or anyone before.

 

“Come on,” Harry whispers, lips ghosting over his skin, and then he’s gone.

 

Louis lets out a hiccuping breath, body going limp for a moment before he regains some semblance of composure. He closes and locks the door, walking back through the kitchen and into the lounge. Jake is still sleeping peacefully, curled up under the blanket. Louis picks him up and cradles him to his chest as Harry takes two candles and they head upstairs.

 

The bedroom is dark but the candlelight is enough for them to see. Harry sets the candles down on the dresser and peels back the covers. Jake stirs as Louis lays him down. “Dad?”

 

“Hey, buddy, shhhh… we’re gonna stay here for the night, yeah? At Harry’s,” Louis says as he strokes the side of his son's face.

 

“Okay,” Jake murmurs as he snuggles in and Louis pulls up the covers, tucking him in tightly.

 

“I’ll be up soon,” Louis whispers but Jake is already fast asleep.

 

Harry picks up one of the candles, leaving the other to illuminate the bedroom, and leads the way back downstairs. It’s so quiet, so still, only the flicker of candlelight dancing on the walls.

 

“It’s a shame we can’t open the shutters. The night sky must be beautiful now that the storm has cleared,” Louis muses as he stands in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do next.

 

Harry comes up beside him, the back of his hand brushing Louis’ delicately, asking silently for permission. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to thread their fingers together, so Louis does, and he hears a small sigh escape Harry’s lips. Louis smiles to himself, trying to settle the butterflies in his stomach at the implication.

 

“We could go for a walk? Will Jake be okay here on his own?”

 

Louis chuckles softly. “Yeah. Sleeps like a log, my son, he’ll be out for the night. We won’t go far anyway, just off the deck and onto the sand. Come on,” Louis says and tugs at Harry’s hand.

 

The wood on the deck is damp underfoot and they make their way down the steps, along the short path, and to the edge of the beach. The cold grains of sand crunch and squeak as they walk, hand in hand.

 

The ocean has calmed, and the waves are merely lapping at the shore like they’re exhausted from the upheaval of the evening. Louis stops, digging his toes in and feeling the warmth of the dry sand beneath the wet layer on top.

 

“I’ll never get over how beautiful it is here,” Harry says reverently. “After a storm, my favorite thing is to sit on my balcony and look at the stars. They always seem brighter somehow, like the sky has been polished by the rain.”

 

Louis tightens his grip, still not brave enough to look at Harry, not yet. “Yeah? I love walking on the dunes and down to the edge of the water in front of our place. At the right time of year, the soldier crabs come out and the moon gets reflected off their shells, it’s like a blanket of little pearls rolling into the sea.”

 

They’re quiet for a moment and Louis feels the nerves building inside him, welling up, ready to burst. Louis wants to kiss Harry, so desperate for it he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t get to taste his lips soon, but this needs to be Harry’s move, so he waits.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


Harry wants to kiss Louis, so desperate for it he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t get to taste his lips soon, but he knows Louis is waiting for him to make a move. He appreciates it more than he could convey with words.

 

Harry has been broken for so long. So broken that the pieces have been scattered across the cosmos, atom by atom, spread amongst the stars. He had believed it was done, irreversible, that nothing could draw the shattered pieces back into a whole, forever destined to be a wandering shell of a man, lost and empty.   
  
He thought his past had become him, defined him, and written it in the pages of his life, his history determining every next step. But it’s a history he doesn’t want anymore, one that clenches low in his gut like it’s trying to tie a knot in his soul and hide it deep within. He’s buried so much for so long. Eons. An eternity of regret and maybes and never-weres.   
  
Missed opportunities, connections, relationships. A left when it should’ve been right. A no when it should’ve been a yes. A walk when it should’ve been a run.   
  
Hiding behind the pain and guilt of something he couldn’t have prevented in the constructed routines that define this life he calls his own. Shutting himself away, shutting himself off from anything that could risk upsetting this delicate glass tower he has locked himself in.   
  
Louis turns on the spot, challenge and kindness in his expression. A contradiction. The moonlight bounces off the ocean and into his eyes as he searches Harry’s face for an answer to an unspoken question.   
  
“Harry...” he sighs out. Breath stuttering, caught, like it’s trying to claw its way out of his lungs.   
  
It’s a lot and so simple at the same time, and so, when it finally comes, it’s the easiest decision Harry’s ever made.   
  
He reaches out and takes hold of Louis’ other wrist, pulling him confidently into his chest, fusing them together, heart to beating heart.   
  
The world stops and spins wildly out of control at the same moment. The first brush of their lips is chaste, but sure, an acknowledgement almost. The beginning of a new history. It’s as though the universe separates and splinters off onto another tangent, anew with endless possibilities, leaving the old one behind, cast aside without further regard. A blank slate. Baggage discarded and forgotten.   
  
Harry finds his hands running up Louis’ sides, up to the plains of his back and into his hair, desire bubbling to the surface and prickling under his fingertips. He feels Louis’ breath on his lips as they part to allow a sliver of space between them, short, sharp exhalations. Now. More. Yes. Every moment pulling Harry closer to the edge of the abyss that he will knowingly jump into.   
  
There’s no need to hold back anymore, his path is clear. No longer shackled with the fear and trepidation that has weighed him down for so many years. Harry dives back in, capturing Louis’ lips, searing heat and desire passing between them, joining them. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and Louis goes with him, countering his movements as their tongues tangle and explore, mixing their breaths, their tastes. Louis’ hands find purchase on Harry’s shirt and pull and push in time with their heaving chests, the passion flowing between them like a river to the sea, hurtling towards the edge of forever. 

 

“Louis…” Harry gasps out as he trails kisses down Louis’ neck. “ _ God _ . Is this…? Is this crazy?”

 

“ _ Fuck _ no… this is… this is the opposite of crazy,” Louis rasps as he angles his head giving Harry better access to his sweet, smooth skin.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Louis, want to give you everything.”

 

“Want it, want it all... don’t stop, Harry,” Louis pleads as Harry feels Louis’ warm hands slide under the back of his shirt and up between his shoulder blades, prodding and kneading his muscles.

 

Harry is happy to obey, to give Louis anything he desires and then some. He reaches around and pulls Louis’ shirt from his shorts, every graze of his fingers on Louis’ bare skin eliciting little puffs of air, delivering melodic whines that will surely haunt Harry’s dreams and fill his every waking hour.

 

Harry needs to taste him again so he noses back up to Louis’ mouth, drawn in like a moth to a flame. “Yes…” Louis whispers and inhales sharply, pulling Harry impossibly closer.

 

They kiss for what seems like hours, Harry finding himself lost in the embrace of this beautiful blue-eyed man. Eventually, they slow, heated passion giving way to soft pecks and gentle caresses as their hands explore each other’s bodies more tenderly, mapping every curve and jut of bone within reach.

 

Their foreheads come to rest together as their breathing calms and Harry cups Louis’ face in his palms, thumbs tracing his cheekbones and down to the corners of his mouth, meeting in the middle, and brushing over his Cupid’s bow.

 

“Thank you, Louis,” Harry murmurs, the emotion thick in his tone with everything he’s trying to convey. Louis looks at him quizzically. “It’s been so long since I’ve done this, I barely even know what I’m doing,” Harry says with a small chuckle.

 

Louis reaches up and threads his fingers behind Harry’s head, tugging lightly at the soft hairs and making Harry’s toes curl in the sand. “Well, let me say, that out of practice or not, you’re doing an excellent job. Ten out of ten would recommend,” Louis says with a smirk.

 

Harry feels himself blush. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, rock star, you’re doing just fine.”

 

Harry leans back down and places a smiling kiss to Louis’ perfect lips as the waves lap at the shore. This might be the best night of Harry’s life and he hopes fervently that it’s the first of many more to come.


	3. For The Love Of All That Is Holy

“Am I going to Harry’s again today?” Jake asks, a spoonful of breakfast cereal poised, looking sternly at Louis as though he’s ready to fling it at him if he dares deny him.

 

“Yup! I’ll come by for lunch and then pick you up when I’m done with work and drop you to Liam and Niall’s.”

 

Jake’s face brightens. “Okay, cool. We’re nearly done with the reprise and I want to hear how it sounds with the brass. Harry’s friend was gonna send the audio file overnight,” Jake says like he’s a grown adult and then promptly takes another mouthful of his Cheerios.

 

It’s been over a week since the storm, since Harry dropped into their lives, or maybe it was the other way around. Regardless, they’ve become quite the little unit. Jake and Harry are now almost inseparable, their shared passion for music is a formidable force and one Louis revels seeing in action. They’ve been writing together non stop, pages and pages of score for the movie churning out each day. Harry says Jake’s a natural and the direction the writing is taking is so new and fresh that he’s thrilled with the results. Louis is trying hard not to gush with pride every second of the day and he’s not entirely sure he’s winning that battle.

 

He couldn’t be happier with the friendship that is developing between Harry and Jake, they’re like two peas in a pod when they’re composing and Harry is coming out of his shell more and more as each day passes.

 

While Louis loves spending time with the three of them together, tonight…  _ tonight _ Louis gets Harry all to himself. Liam and Niall are having Jake for a sleepover so Harry and Louis can have some  _ adult time _ . Jake was particularly perturbed about not getting to spend even more time with Harry until Liam and Niall said they’d make the sleepover a game night and hook up the consoles to Liam’s massive projector screen. The promise of pizza and popcorn sealing the deal.

 

Their first date, as Harry likes to call it, and even though Louis wants to fondly roll his eyes he can’t bring himself to quell the nervous energy that builds in his stomach every time Harry whispers the word in his ear. 

 

It can’t come soon enough though as Louis is about ready to burst out of his skin and his balls are well and truly trying to creep inside his body. If he doesn’t get Harry alone soon he’s going to fucking combust. The way Harry looks at him through hooded eyes, combined with the fleeting caresses, stolen kisses, and a barrage of filthy texts they exchange every night makes him think they’re definitely on the same page.

 

Louis had dutifully sat Jake down last night and broached the subject of him and Harry as more than friends and the brief, confused expression Jake had given him nearly sent Louis into a full-blown panic attack complete with flop sweat. Of course, he should’ve known that his son was simply winding him up. The apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree it seems and the laughter that tumbled out of Jake’s mouth immediately softened by the huge hug and ‘ _ It's alright, Dad, I’m only kidding, Harry’s awesome _ ’ soothing him and granting him his son's blessing. He really is too smart for his own good.

 

The venue for their date will be Harry’s house, and will also be Louis’ first chance to get a taste of that part of Harry’s life. The repair work is due to be finished today, no delays as a result of the storm and not for the first time Louis ponders what cash can do as a motivation for people. 

 

Louis looks over to his and Jake’s backpacks, ready and waiting at the door, both stuffed full with clothes for their respective evenings, and he smiles. Some might say that knowing in advance what tonight will entail for Louis and Harry has taken the romance out of it, but when you’ve got kids, spontaneity is for losers and forward planning is sexy as hell.

 

Louis slurps down the last of his tea and rinses their bowls and cups in the sink. “Alright, you ready, buddy?”

 

“Yup! Let’s go!”

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“Fucking  _ hell _ , Harry. This is… wow,” Louis says in awe, eyes wide as he takes in the sparkling water of the gorgeous indoor pool, lit from beneath and casting flickering dances of light onto the walls.

 

Harry comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and Louis leans back easily into the embrace. “Nice, isn’t it?”

 

“Jake’s never gonna want to leave.”

 

“He can come here and swim any time he wants to. You’re both welcome here, always.” Harry whispers the last word into his ear sending a rush of adrenaline through Louis’ body, and Louis knows he means it sincerely.

 

Harry had cooked them up a feast in his stunning kitchen, baked salmon and three different types of salad. He’d assured him that the entire meal was really no trouble, even though he had clearly been pulling out all the stops. Harry is a terrible liar and Louis told him so, the resulting eye roll and blush was an extra gift that Louis tucked away for safekeeping. Their conversation had flowed easily, but there was an undercurrent of nervous energy building between them as every minute ticked by. Furtive glances, ankles locked under the table, a suggestive comment here, and a brush of hands there.

 

Louis had demanded Harry play him Billy Joel’s Piano Man while he leaned against piano and belted out the tune like some cliched lounge singer. It was ridiculous and perfect and Harry had been happy to play it a second and third time just because Louis asked.

 

Louis looks out across the glassy surface of the pool and through to windows beyond as the sun casts its last golden hue over the ocean, glowing for now, but soon it will be blanketed by the night sky.

 

He knows what’s coming next, they both do, and Louis wants it so badly he can barely breathe. He wants to initiate it, but he’s suddenly developed a timidity he didn’t even know he possessed the ability to conjure. It’s stupid, absurd given the situation, he just needs to step up and make it happen for fuck's sake.

 

As with most almost everything else in their fledgling relationship, Harry seems to be able to read him like a book.

 

“So uhm… that’s the downstairs, wine cellar, and pool tour completed, just the upper floor left. Would you… would you like to see the bedrooms?”

 

Louis smiles to himself and turns in Harry’s arms reaching up to wind his hands around the back of Harry’s neck. He drinks him in for a beat, struck yet again by Harry’s beauty and the openness and kindness in his eyes. Louis is so ready. Ready to feel Harry’s bare skin on his, ready to feel Harry move inside him, ready to give himself over completely.

 

“Take me to bed, Harry.”

 

Harry smiles and sucks in a breath, hunger and desire emanating off him in waves. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Want you to fuck me,” Louis says as he pushes his hips forward, pressing their groins together and getting a hint of Harry’s length hardening up in his jeans. It feels just as impressive as it’s looked through the confines of his jeans, and Louis has looked, a  _ lot _ . 

 

“Jesus Christ, Lou,” Harry murmurs and runs his thumb over Louis’ lips. “The things that come out of this innocent little mouth of yours.”

 

Louis lets his tongue slip out and Harry dips two of his fingers inside, Louis rewarding him with a playful suck. He bats his eyelashes like a coquettish tease just because he can and he  _ knows _ how he looks when he does it. He wants to rile Harry up as much as he can, hoping that it will spur him on to manhandle him a bit. He’s dreamed of Harry slamming him up against a wall, all strong hands and hot breaths, imagined him pinning him down and fucking him hard, relentless.

 

Louis releases Harry fingers with a nip of his sharp teeth as a parting gift. “Let's go upstairs and I’ll show you just how  _ not _ innocent my mouth truly is.”

 

Harry freezes, and for a moment Louis worries he’s gone too far, but then he watches as Harry’s pupils, that were barely hanging onto a green rim before, blow out completely. “Fuck,” Harry growls and he spins, gripping Louis by the wrist and dragging him out of the pool room, up the two flights of stairs and onto the second floor so fast that Louis can barely keep up.

 

Louis giggles as he trails behind Harry. “What about my tour?”

 

Harry snaps his head around, glaring at Louis, which just makes his giggle turn into a full-on laugh. “Bedrooms. Bathrooms,” Harry says through gritted teeth, waving his free hand around aimlessly. “Who the fuck cares.”

 

Louis concurs wholeheartedly. “I like this newly commanding side of you, you know,” he says with enough cheek to earn him a second glare.

 

“Yeah?” Harry flings open the door and pushes Louis through into the room, smacking him on the arse. Louis squeals and spins around, walking backward as Harry stalks toward him stripping off his shirt and flicking on a lamp atop the dresser. “You like it?” Harry asks as he unbuckles his belt, reefing it out of the loops and casting it aside, metal and leather hitting the floor and ringing out in the quiet room.

 

Louis nods, the backs of his knees hitting the bed and he stumbles, landing heavily on the mattress, leaning back onto his elbows and scooting further up. 

 

Harry rakes his eyes over Louis’ body as he slowly undoes his button and flies, leaving his pants gaping open before standing there brazenly, hands balling in fists beside him as he breathes heavily.

 

Louis’ lips part of their own volition as he drinks in the sight of the sexiest fucking man he’s ever seen. The soft lamplight is making Harry’s skin glow, his puffy nipples and dark happy trail standing out against the milky white expanses of his torso.

 

Louis wants to say something, sass Harry a bit, use his humour to dissipate the nerves that are building up inside his chest, but he can’t manage to utter a single sound. It’s like Harry has him in a trance, his ravenous gaze fixing him in place and rendering him mute.

 

“God. You’re so beautiful. Can’t believe I get to have you,” Harry says with a guttural undertone.

 

A small whimper escapes Louis’ mouth on a hiccuping exhale. He reaches up and starts unbuttoning his shirt, fingers trembling, unblinking. Why did he think buttons would be a good idea for tonight? He should’ve just gone with one of those outfits strippers wear held together by nothing but velcro. It’s going to take him an eternity to get these goddamn clothes off and he wants to be naked, now. He fumbles again and huffs out a breath, breaking his gaze with Harry to focus for a moment but then he hears the thud of clothes on the wooden floor and snaps his eyes back up.

 

“Fucking  _ hell _ ,” Louis gasps, giving up on his shirt and instead allowing himself to stare openly at Harry’s now naked form. Louis’ eyes are dragged down to Harry’s crotch, the thatch of dark hair proudly revealing his heavy cock, firming up against his thigh, and it’s bigger than he’d even dreamed, long, and thick, and mouthwatering. 

 

Harry walks toward him, his cock swaying back and forth in response. It’s mesmerizing. “Need a hand, baby?”

 

Louis nods again, words still eluding him.  _ Baby _ . He could definitely get used to that.

 

Harry kneels on the bed beside him, mattress dipping, dick swinging to the side with the motion, and Louis still can’t look away. Harry leans forward and fuzes their lips together as he makes quick work of the buttons on Louis’ shirt. Louis tries to help but he’s all thumbs and Harry simply smiles into the kiss, gliding his fingers under the material at his shoulders and sliding it down his arms. Louis clenches his abs and lifts his back off the bed, Harry resting back onto his heels as Louis wriggles out of the stupidly constricting clothing.

 

Harry runs his fingertips down the center of Louis’ chest and back up again, brushing his knuckles over one nipple and then the other. Louis shudders and hunches his shoulders inwards, the resulting pout and furrowed brows that manifest on Harry’s face really shouldn’t be as endearing as they are. Harry circles Louis’ wrists with his thumbs and forefingers, picking them up and pushing them back to the quilted headboard.

 

“Stay,” Harry commands and Louis just blinks at him slowly, understanding washing over him.

 

Harry leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth, sawing his teeth on the sensitive skin just this side of too hard and getting it wet before popping off and blowing over the bud, making it pebble with the cool air. Each one gets the treatment repeated until they’re both hard and tingling and Louis is moaning and pushing his hands against the headboard.

 

Louis watches as Harry licks stripes across his ribs, sternum, and down his stomach, dipping in at his belly button, nipping at the ring of soft skin and fucking his tongue in and out. It sends electricity shooting around his body, from the tips of his fingers to his toes and straight to his cock, making it twitch against the zipper.

 

Harry sits up and undoes Louis’ jeans, tapping his hips for Louis to lift his bum, and peels them off with his boxers, kissing down his thighs and shins as each inch is revealed. It’s painfully slow and Louis wants things to simultaneously speed up and stay suspended in this moment forever. They’re on the precipice of something life-changing. He can feel it. The weight of it all. The shifting sands beneath them, knowing that nothing will ever be the same again. But then that’s probably been true since the instant he barreled into Harry in the staff corridor. The rock star with a shy smile, pigeon toes, dimples, and swaying hips. 

 

There’s nothing shy about the way Harry's Looking at him now though as he throws Louis jeans and boxers off the side of the bed. He swings his leg over Louis’ thighs and runs his hands up his sides, through the soft hair of his armpits making Louis shiver.

 

“I wanna…  _ fuck _ , you’re so gorgeous, Lou,” 

 

Louis moans and arches his back trying to get some friction, anything, he wants to ask for it but he can’t find the words. And honestly, this is bordering on ridiculous, Louis has never been so caught up in his head during sex before. But he senses how important this is, how important Harry is to him. Wonderful, brilliant, kind Harry, who he absolutely adores. In two short weeks, he’s managed to infiltrate Louis’ heart and stake a claim without Louis putting up the slightest protest. But why would he? He can’t remember a time when he was this happy and he’s so sure of this, of Harry, of a future for them both.

 

Harry is still staring, running his hands all over Louis’ body, murmuring sweet nothings as he catalogues every inch of Louis’ skin. He ducks down and latches onto Louis’ collarbone, sucking and biting and laving over the marks he’s making. Louis bucks his hips and Harry pushes down with more force, grinding into Louis cock.

 

“Yes…” Louis groans, finally finding his words. “Fuck yes, Harry. Come  _ on _ .”

 

Harry’s hands continue to trace lines on Louis’ skin, down his stomach to the base of his cock. He takes it in his hand and strokes up and down languidly. “Think I strained a muscle in my arm from wanking to this exact image. You, here beneath me, all laid out and squirming, begging for it.”

 

Louis is going out of his mind. It feels so good but he wants more, wants everything Harry will give him.

 

Harry sits up and leans over to the bedside table, grabbing a tube of lube and slots his knees between Louis’ thighs, spreading them apart. Louis feels so exposed like this, gripping the headboard as best he can, not taking his eyes off Harry, waiting for his next move.

 

Harry shuffles back and leans down, licking a stripe from the base to the tip of Louis’ cock, wrapping his plush, pink lips around the head and wetly sucking the head into his mouth and it’s so fucking good. He takes Louis further in, and Louis moans as Harry retreats and then returns, letting his saliva create a slick pathway to ease the glide.

 

Louis spreads his legs wider, the muscles of his inner thighs straining as he bucks his hips, trying to encourage Harry to take him down into his throat. He gets what he wants almost immediately and he feels Harry’s muscles spasm around him. 

 

Harry eases off slightly and growls, the vibrations shooting through Louis’ cock and around his entire body. His hole clenches and if Harry doesn’t stick something in him soon he’s gonna lose his fucking mind.

 

As if on cue, Harry pops off his cock and sits back, trailing a dry finger over his hole making Louis tremble, sweat trickling down his neck and pooling between his collarbones.

 

Harry pushes Louis’ knees up, feet planting on the bed. Louis hears the flip of the cap and watches as Harry drizzles lube on two of his fingers. “Jerked off before you got here, just so I didn’t jump you in the fucking driveway,” Harry says lowly, his gravelly voice even deeper than usual, the timbre of it sending shivers throughout Louis’ body.

 

“Got hard just sitting across from you at the dinner table,” Harry says as he rubs his wet fingers around Louis’ hole, and Louis keens, so desperate, panting and gasping for air. “Wanted to sink to my knees and blow you in the cellar, I’m just so fucking gone for you, you make me crazy.”

 

Harry’s words are like kerosene on the fire of Louis’ desire, fueling him, making him burn up from within. He’s never had sex like this. Never felt so unabashed and eager, needy for Harry’s praise and affection. He whines and whimpers with every breath, unable to hold it in.

 

“Prettiest little sounds, let me hear you, don’t hold back, baby.”

 

Louis keens high in his throat, wanton and so bloody ready. “Harry… more.”

 

“Yeah, you want more? Want me to fuck you like this? All spread out and gagging for it?”

 

Louis nods manically, sweaty fringe plastering itself to his forehead. He should be embarrassed by how much he wants this, how brazenly he’s letting Harry see him, but he doesn’t care.

 

Harry increases the pressure, eyes glued to Louis’ as the heat and passion sparks between them. Louis shifts his pelvis down and Harry stills his hand, letting Louis set the pace.

 

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, pull me in, know you want to.”

 

Louis pushes a little more and one of Harry’s fingers pops past his rim. He groans and swivels his hips, encouragingly. 

 

Harry looks down and watches as Louis’ hole sucks his digit inside, a second finger pressing in beside the first. The stretch is a lot, but Louis loves the feeling of it being on the edge of too much.

 

“So fucking gorgeous, tiny little hole so hungry for it.”

 

Louis clenches and releases and squirms trying to draw Harry’s fingers in deeper but he can’t get the leverage he wants. “God… fucking  _ move _ already,” Louis whines.

 

Harry smirks and pushes both fingers in deeply as requested, pumping them in and out. “Gonna wreck you. Gonna fill you up so good. Won’t be able to walk properly for days.”

 

“Yes…  _ please _ .”

 

“So good for me, baby. So perfect,” Harry says as he scissors him open, a third finger eventually joining in the onslaught, the sounds of his hole being pummeled filling the otherwise quiet room.

 

“Fuck, hurry up and get in me,” Louis groans, drawing his knees up further and slotting his heels against his bum.

 

Harry chuckles as he tucks a fourth finger inside. “Wanna make sure you’re ready. Don’t want to hurt you, Lou.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and levels Harry with a glare, his sass finally returning from wherever it's been vacationing. “Got fucking tickets on yourself there, big boy?”

 

Harry stops and grins. “Oh, I see how it’s gonna be then. Maybe I should just make you wait a bit longer? Get you going until you’re proper begging for it? That sounds like fun, actually.”

 

Louis cranes his neck and stares daggers at Harry, arms straining to hold their place on the headboard. He must look a right mess based on the amused look Harry gives him, hair disheveled, flushed from head to toe with half of Harry’s hand buried in his hole. “I swear... to  _ god… _ ” Louis pants out. “If you’re not in me in the next thirty seconds I’ll fucking sort myself out!”

 

Louis doesn’t mean it, of course, but he’s dying here. He feels like he’s waited for this for so long, which is ridiculous, he hasn’t, he knows that, but on some level, it’s like he’s been waiting for Harry his whole life. Now that he’s so close to getting what he wants, he wants it so badly, and it’s right there, in the form of a big, gorgeous, infuriating, hot-as-fuck man who is currently teasing him to hell and back.

 

Harry waits for a beat, and then another, slowing dragging his fingers out until they’re just resting on his stretched out rim. Louis is going to murder him and he’s fairly certain no jury would convict him based on the evidence. A smug expression appears on Harry’s face as he leans down and swallows Louis entire cock in one go, slamming two fingers back inside and straight into his prostate. Louis’ whole body spasms and he throws his head back onto the pillow, knees reflexively trying to close against Harry’s shoulders.

 

“Oh my  _ god _ !” Louis cries out. It’s too much all at once and Louis can feel himself hurtling towards the edge of his orgasm. His hands come away from the headboard slap down hard on the bed, fingers white knuckling in the sheets as he fucks up into Harry’s mouth trying to get away from the insistent fingers that are rubbing relentlessly at the small bundle of sensitive nerves deep within him.

 

Louis is about to lose it when Harry pulls off his cock and removes his fingers, flinging himself to the side and rummaging around for something in the bedside table, thankfully coming back with a condom. Fucking finally.

 

“Hands and knees,” Harry commands, tapping at his thigh as he rips open the wrapper, and Louis can definitely get on board with that. His limbs are shaking and there’s a buzzing in his body but he complies as best he can, albeit it slowly. He hears Harry squirt out some lube, a hiss escaping his mouth as he presumably slicks himself up.

 

Clearly, Louis taking too long to arrange himself to Harry’s liking so he grabs onto Louis’ hips, pulling him up and manhandling him into position. Louis smiles to himself. About bloody time. This is what he’d wanted all along. Louis’ arms last about four seconds before they’re giving out and he face plants onto the bed. Not his most graceful move, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“God...  _ look _ at you,” Harry says as he kneads Louis’ arse with his gigantic paws. “All pliant and fucked out already and I haven’t even put it in you yet.”

 

Louis turns his head and looks back at Harry, narrowing his eyes. “Well, fucking put it in me then you great oaf. I’m waiting,” Louis sing-songs egging Harry on.

 

“You know, I think I liked it better when you couldn’t string a sentence together. Good times. Can we go back there?”

 

“Oh for the love of all that is holy, will you just  _ fuck me already _ !!” Louis shouts and shoves his arse back into Harry’s hands.

 

“Sheesh, Lou, all you had to do was ask,” Harry says with a wry grin and Louis is definitely going to murder him. After Harry has fucked him. Yes, definitely after that.

 

Harry rubs his slicked up cock on Louis’ rim teasingly.

 

“Any time this century would be grand, yeah?”

 

“God, you’re such a mouthy little thing,” Harry says as he presses the tip of his cock at Louis’ entrance.

 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love it,” Louis mutters, lips dragging on the sheets as he speaks.

 

“Yeah, I do. I  _ really _ do,” Harry murmurs as he pushes forward and breaches the ring of muscle. He’s loosened him up well, but there’s still a hint of pain at the intrusion. Louis loves this bit, loves feeling his body mold to accommodate a big cock, and Harry is hands-down the biggest he’s ever had.

 

Louis tenses briefly and then relaxes into it as Harry edges in, so slow and careful. But Louis doesn’t want careful. He wants to feel full and stretched to breaking, wants Harry to slam into him and take him, overwhelm him, envelope him, consume him.

 

“That a-all you got?” Louis challenges, panting into the sheets.

 

“You want more, baby?”

 

“Well spotted. Give the man a prize,” Louis deadpans and he knows he’s pushing Harry’s buttons but he suspects that’s exactly what Harry wants.

 

“Maybe next time I’ll put you over my knee when you’re being a little shit. Or maybe I’ll tie you up and tease you for hours,” Harry growls out as he pushes in impossibly deeper.

 

Louis whimpers and clutches at the sheets, eyes closing against his will, toes curling and chest sagging down onto the bed, presenting himself to Harry fully.

 

“Yeah? You’d like that w-wouldn’t you?” Harry stammers, clearly just as affected as Louis. He pulls Louis’ cheeks apart and Louis feels like he’s going to tear in two. Surely there can’t be much more, but he wants it all, wants everything Harry’s got to give him.

 

Louis’ thighs are shaking and the blood is rushing through his ears. “You wouldn’t have the guts to give it to me. You're just a big softie. All… all talk, no action-“

 

The shock of Harry’s hands slapping down hard on his arse forces all the air out of Louis’ lungs and he lurches forward. “Fuck!”

 

He rebounds like a rubber band and pushes his arse back into Harry’s hands as he kneads the stinging flesh.

 

“Yeah? You like that? Such a naughty boy,” Harry surges forward and bottoms out, finally, hips pressed to Louis slap-warm skin. He stills for a moment, both men reveling in the feeling of being so intimately connected.

 

“Mhmmmm… good,” Louis sighs out. “Move.”

 

“Still so bossy, maybe you need another slap?” Harry pulls back experimentally, almost sliding out before he slams inside once more.

 

“ _ Yes _ …” Louis groans. “More… come on, gimme ‘nother.” Louis is slurring his words, barely able to focus on what he’s saying as his head spins, a swirling mess of sensations that he can’t fully process.

 

The second double-hander is harder than the first and Louis sucks in a sharp breath. He’s never done anything even remotely like this before and it’s so tantalizingly good he’s practically vibrating out of his skin.

 

Harry starts to pump in and out of him, pulling and pinching at the raw skin. “Fuck, Lou. I can see my hand prints. So beautiful. How does it feel?”

 

It’s the strangest sensation. Heat and stinging pain giving way to a warmth and tingling that courses around his body, through his veins, and he doesn’t know how to explain it.

 

“Good… so good…”

 

Harry lands another slap as he pounds into him, kneading his cheeks in time with his punishing rhythm. Louis reaches up and braces himself on the headboard, locking his elbows to give Harry the push back he needs to get as deep as he can.

 

“So… fucking… gorgeous. Wish you could… see this…” Harry pants out as he lands a slap on alternate cheeks with every third thirst, soothing them in between.

 

Louis is getting closer to the edge, he thinks, but he’s not sure, the buzzing in his brain clouding his judgement.

 

“Harry… wanna… see you…” Louis manages to get out, suddenly overtaken by a need to be close to Harry, to be held by him.

 

Harry pulls out immediately and flips Louis over like he’s a rag doll. He’s back on him in an instant, lining up and pushing inside as he leans down and sears their lips together in a heated kiss. Louis tries to kiss him back but he can’t quite coordinate his movements. He manages to lift his arms and threads his fingers behind Harry’s head, hanging on for dear life as Harry pounds into him.

 

Harry is speaking words into Louis’ open mouth, but he can’t make them out. Little sweet nothings and adulations that soothe him and ground him.

 

When his orgasm hits it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before. He senses it mere moments before it crashes over him in a deluge of sensations. He barely even registers when Harry comes too, hips stuttering against him, burying his face into Louis’ neck, groaning, hot breath on his skin.

 

Louis is drifting and flying and swooping, riding out the wave as Harry fucks him through the aftershocks tenderly. His heart rate slows and he gradually comes back to himself, Harry’s body weighing him down, sweaty and sticky, hair stuck in his mouth. Louis spits and sputters dramatically and Harry chuckles lowly against his ear, turning his head as he raises himself up and reaches down to pull out, holding the condom in place. He rips it off and drops it to the floor to be dealt with later, although Louis has no idea when that might be, nor does he care.

 

Harry rolls off and lays beside him, both men staring at the ceiling as they try to regulate their breathing and absorb what just transpired.

 

It’s Louis who finally breaks the silence. “Holy hell…” he says, letting out a long exhale, turning his head to stare at Harry in awe. “I thought you said you were out of practice?”

 

Harry chuckles and shifts onto his side, propping his head up on his hand and looking at him smugly. “It’s amazing what two weeks and a vivid imagination can do. I swear I’ve fucked you in my mind a thousand times since our first kiss on the beach. Maybe even before that, if I’m being completely honest.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Mhmmm… imagined fucking you good and proper.”

 

Louis rolls onto his side, facing Harry, not breaking his gaze, regarding him and wondering what other things have gone on in his head. “Fucked me good and proper in real life too, big boy,” he says seductively and reaches down to cup Harry’s soft, sticky cock.

 

“Oi!” Harry swats at him and earns himself a pinch on his hip before Harry trails his hand over to his arse and rubs at the sensitive skin. Louis winces and Harry stills his movements. “Shit, you alright?”

 

“Yeah, never better,” Louis murmurs, sensing the lingering sting and heat on his cheeks. “The uhm… spanking… was that part of what you imagined?

 

“Nope,” Harry says with a grin, but then his expression changes into something resembling concern. “Was it okay?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes fondly. “Very okay. Or weren’t you paying attention when I practically begged you for more?”

 

Harry chuckles, his smile returning to its rightful place. “Yeah, I might’ve noticed,” he says sheepishly. “Shower?”

 

“Sounds good. Bet you’ve got one of those crazy rain shower attachments and massage jets that come out of the walls?”

 

“Maybe… come on, shower time,” Harry taps on his hip leaning in to peck Louis on the lips. “Then I’ll rub some moisturizer into that cute little arse.”

 

“Hey! There’s nothing little about it.”

 

“Don’t I know it,” Harry rolls away giggling and manages to avoid the slap Louis tries to land on his chest.

 

“You’re a menace, Styles,” Louis chides as he watches Harry walk toward the en-suite. 

 

Harry turns and looks over his shoulder, smirking. “Right back at you, baby.”

  
  


~~~~

  
  


“Fuck, that sounds so good,” Louis says as he stands beside the piano the vibrations still buzzing on the strings inside the polished wooden frame.

 

“It is, isn’t it,” Harry says proudly. It really is good. Better than he’d hoped for and he has Jake to thank for that.

 

“Well, it’s phenomenal. I could get used to this, you know. Morning sex, chef-quality breakfast, and then my own private concert by a world-renowned musician. Sign me up, babe.”

 

Harry rests his hands on the keys and smiles, but he knows the hesitance is probably written all over his face. “I wanted to talk to you about something, actually, while we’re alone.”

 

Louis leans his elbows on the top of the black shiny surface and looks at him intently. “Alright. Spit it out. What’s got those brows furrowing?”

 

Harry’s nervous, is the thing, but he needs to have this conversation now before things go any further.

 

“So… you know how Jake and I have been writing?”

 

“Mhmmmm… kinda noticed that.”

 

“He’s so good, Lou, so talented. God.” Harry could honestly gush for hours on end. Jake has such a way of crafting the melodies and strings, soaring to the highest of heights and then balancing that with a calm and reverence he’s never fully mastered himself. He’s completely in awe of his talent at such a young age and Harry sometimes has trouble wrapping his head around it.

 

“He gets it all from me, you know,” Louis says with a smirk, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

 

Harry chuckles and closes the lid, arranging his words carefully before continuing. “Be that as it may, oh modest one, he’s been amazing these last couple of weeks and the section of score we’ve worked on is almost complete.”

 

“Really? I won't pretend to know much about the process, but that seems... fast?”

 

“It is! And it’s so good, I couldn’t have created anything even close to this without him. He’s added a light and fresh sound that fits perfectly with the cinematography and rushes I’ve seen and I just…” Harry pauses and takes a deep breath. “I want to give him writing credits.”

 

Harry waits for the implication to sink in, watching Louis carefully for any sign of disapproval. Maybe Louis will hate the idea, maybe he’ll scream and shout and say he’s too young and he doesn’t want his son involved formally, but Harry really hopes that isn’t the case. Jake deserves this. He should be rewarded for his work.

 

Louis looks perplexed and is about to respond, then stops, mouth gaping open. “Wait… do you mean…? Actually, what do you mean? Explain it to me, slowly, using really small words.”

 

“Well, I want to give Jake writing credits, so he’ll be… uhm… like, credited on the score.”

 

“Thanks for the recap, that was  _ super _ helpful, but could you maybe, oh I dunno, explain what on earth that means?”

 

Harry gathers himself and leans forward on his elbows, clasping his hands together. Louis’ staring down at him but he doesn’t look angry, just confused, patiently waiting for Harry to get his shit together.

 

“So, he would be credited as a co-writer for the score, meaning that he would earn royalties. He won’t receive a direct payment from the production company for his services as that contract was with me, but I would pay him from my fee,” Harry says and sees Louis about to object so he continues on, shaking his head emphatically. “No. Don’t try and dissuade me. He deserves it, and from a legal standpoint, it’s what’s required. I’ve spoken to my lawyers and they can draw up an agreement for you both. He’d need to be registered with the relevant agencies and you’d also need to seek out your own legal advice. I can put you in touch with some independent firms who specialize in these types of things and you can choose one you like, those costs would then come out of Jake’s payment from me,” Harry sucks in a long breath and shifts in his seat, fiddling with his rings, desperately wanting Louis to be okay with this. 

 

Louis just stands there, processing the information for a moment before the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many words in one hit before.”

 

Harry lets out a laugh in relief, breath stuttering and chest barreling. “So, what do you think?”

 

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s a lot to take in. Like, a  _ lot _ . This is massive, Harry. Are you really sure?”

 

The beaming smile on Harry’s face must be as obvious as it feels and Louis mirrors it wholeheartedly. “Yeah, I’m sure, Lou. So sure. It’s what I want and Jake has definitely earned it. He’s…”

 

“...so talented.” Louis finishes for him, the pride evident in his voice. “I think you might’ve mentioned that once or twice.” Louis reaches down and takes Harry’s hands in his, stroking over the backs of his knuckles gently. “Alright then. Let’s do it.”

 

Harry turns his hands over and threads their fingers together, squeezing firmly. “Thank you, Lou,” Harry says, the emotion evident in his voice. “For this, for everything. It’s just… you’ve made me so happy.”

 

Harry can feel the tears welling up in his eyes and he doesn’t even try to stop them from overflowing. The road that has led him here has been long and winding with so many twists and turns, tragedy and sadness, and self-imposed isolation. For so many years he chose to live his life alone, cut off from the world, from human contact, from hope, from love. But that world has been forever changed by this beautiful blue-eyed man, so open and willing to embrace him, and all his flaws. Harry knows he loves him, his heart is ready to burst out of his chest when he thinks about how much. He’ll tell him soon, maybe really soon, but for now, he’s happy to wait.

 

Louis steps around the piano and Harry slides along the seat to make room for him. “Hey now, shhhhh…” Louis whispers as he wraps him in a warm embrace.

 

“S-sorry,” Harry stammers, tucking his face into Louis neck, tears streaming down onto Louis’ shirt. “I can’t… I can’t even begin to tell you how much my life has changed, for the better, since I met you both.”

 

“Well, ditto for me, for us both,” Louis murmurs soothingly.

 

Harry lifts his head and cups Louis’ face in his palms, nosing along his cheek and seeking out his lips for a chaste kiss. “You’re so perfect. Everything is perfect. You’re so much more than I ever hoped for. Are you sure this is what you want?”

 

Louis chuckles and runs his fingers through Harry’s hair, gazing at him lovingly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

Harry sighs and dives in, stealing another kiss and he knows that this is only the beginning of their future together. One Harry hopes will be long and filled with joy and love.

 

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and lifts the lid of the piano. “Play me a memory, Harry.”

 

Harry smiles at the reference to the song and kisses the top of Louis’ head, laying his fingers over the keys and pressing down, the first notes of Piano Man drifting into the air.


	4. Epilogue

_ 2 years later... _

 

Their car rolls along slowly, queued behind a line of other ostentatious black vehicles. Louis’ palms are sweaty, his shirt is irritating him, and his mouth is bordering on desert-like status.

 

Jake is peering out the window beside him, wide-eyed and so excited he’s practically vibrating out of his seat. He looks so smart, all primped and preened, hair styled and shoes shiny. Louis thinks back fondly to the endless tugs-of-war he used to have getting him to wear shoes, not today though. Today he stood in front of the mirror in their hotel room, drinking in the  _ ooh’s _ and  _ ahh’s _ as the team of stylists fawned over him in his tailored black suit, crisp light blue shirt, and polished black leather lace-ups. He looks so grown-up and it makes Louis’ heart swell.

 

Louis pulls at the collar of his white shirt, it’s too tight. The stylist had assured him it looked better buttoned up under his navy blue suit, but now he can’t breathe. He undoes the top three buttons and laughs internally at how it will almost match Harry’s gaping shirt.

 

As if he can sense his unease, Harry sits forward and reaches across the space to take Louis’ hands in his, gripping him tightly, metal clanking on metal. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, and at Harry’s array of rings, some new, some old as the sun catches the sparkle of his own simple, platinum band. They’ve been married for six glorious months now and Louis has never felt more settled and at peace. Jake had been best man for them both, with Liam and Niall acting as groomsmen, Emerald Beach providing the backdrop for the beautiful event. They had danced their first dance as husbands to Piano Man, of course, nothing else would have been right.

 

The formal adoption papers had been signed a week after the wedding, but it really didn’t change much, just a piece of paper to solidify Harry and Jake’s already established and unbreakable bond.

 

They had moved in with Harry a few months after they got together, and even that had seemed a long time to wait. His little beach house is now rented out for holidaymakers who are gradually paying off his mortgage. Just one hundred and fifteen more monthly payments to go. Harry had offered to pay it out, but Louis decided to just keep it ticking over, Harry having already given them so much, and in the end, it hadn’t seemed necessary.

 

Louis smiles at Harry, receiving a bright one in return. He looks absolutely stunning, as always. A light grey suit with dark navy blue floral patterns down the lapels and across the cuffs that compliment Louis’ suit are offset by a light pink shirt, unbuttoned practically to his navel, showing off his necklaces and long curls which brush his broad shoulders. 

 

“We’re sixth in line, about four minutes now, gentleman,” their driver says from the front seat.

 

“Nearly there…” Harry whispers, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Louis’ knuckles.

 

Louis nods, butterflies building in his stomach. The last few months have been a whirlwind of travel and press for the movie. Mainly for Harry, but he and Jake joined him for some of it, getting to see the world on the production company’s dime. The unique working partnership of Harry and Jake has been a novelty for the media, but Harry was careful to keep him shielded from most of it, his wariness of exposure, and all that it could bring, always at the forefront of Harry’s decisions.

 

The Oscar nomination hadn’t been a surprise, of course, with the movie receiving such critical acclaim, and seven other nominations for tonight including Best Picture, but it still blew Louis away. Seeing Jake’s excitement at the news will remain one of Louis’ most prized memories. Win or lose, it’s a wonderful achievement for them both.

 

Lots of things have changed in the last two years, both little and monumental. Louis gave up his job at the resort after the first summer holidays and now focuses on running school holiday camps. Jake has finally stopped calling them _prison_ _camps_ now that he gets to help run them. He had a big hand in designing the programs and they offer a balanced range of activities; sport and music, ‘ _because not everyone wants to run around and kick a ball, Dad_ ’, Jake had said. Smart kid. The camps are booked out months in advance and they offer after-school programs as well. Niall handles the music programs and they outsource the sports programs to one of Liam’s local businesses, ‘No Payne No Gain’, running the more sport-focused activities. From time to time, Harry and Jake do guest performances and tutor sessions, which Harry adores, no longer the mysterious recluse in the mansion up on millionaires row, instead, he’s become part of the community and relishes in the opportunity to share his love for music with the young kids who come to the camps.

 

A knock sounds on the window and it startles Louis from his thoughts. Harry leans over and lowers the window, a slightly manic looking woman ducking her head inside the vehicle as it edges forwards. “Good afternoon, gentlemen, I’m Alice and I’ll be your escort for the red carpet,” she says loudly, the sounds of chatter and music filling the space. “You’re up next. Just to run you through what will happen. The car will come to a stop and I’ll open the door. You will exit the vehicle and proceed to the marked spots on the red carpet for photographs. The media outlets have positions towards the rear, near the entrance to the theatre, and interviewers will call you over. I’ll be with you until you enter the building so please don’t hesitate to ask me for anything you need,” Alice finishes and smiles brightly.

 

Louis nods but Harry is the one to respond. “Thanks, Alice, nice to meet you. I’m Harry, and this is Louis and Jake,” he says, extending his hand in greeting.

 

Alice clearly knows who they are but she takes his hand and shakes it, waving to Louis and Jake with her free hand. “Lovely to meet you all, too.”

 

She stands and keeps her hand on the window sill, walking alongside the car.

 

“You ready, mate?” Harry asks Jake, holding out his fist for him.

 

“Yup! Bring it on!” Jake shouts and fist-bumps Harry.

 

“Lou?”

 

Louis takes a deep breath and runs his hands up and down his thighs. Is he ready? Probably not, but there’s no turning back now. “Yeah… yeah, I’m ready,” he breathes out and presents his fists for Harry and Jake in a practiced routine.

 

Alice leans back inside the car. “Okay, time to go,” she says and opens the door.

 

Harry steps out first and the crowd goes wild, screams and flashes from the press pool going off at lightning speed. Louis steps out next, turning immediately to take Jake’s hand and help him out. It’s overwhelming and a little scary, but Harry steps up beside Louis and keeps his hands firmly on Jake’s shoulders, bringing him in front of them protectively as they move toward the designated spot on the carpet. Shouts of  _ over here  _ and  _ look this way _ and  _ Harry _ and  _ Jake _ ring out around the area, everyone vying for their attention. There are even a few calling for Louis, which he finds completely bizarre.

 

Alice spins them around on the spot for another onslaught of flashes and shouts. It’s completely surreal and Louis can’t believe this is their life, so far away from their little beachside community, but it’s amazing and something he will surely remember forever. He leans down to check on Jake, but he needn’t have been concerned. His son is bouncing on the balls of his feet and striking poses for the cameras like a pro, egged on by Harry who has crouched down to join him. They pull faces and pretend to flex their muscles and the photographers are lapping it up. Louis can’t help but join in and soon they have Jake hoisted up on their shoulders, changing positions to hold him in their arms across their chests. Alice is laughing behind them and they are clearly red carpet favorites based on the way the interviewers are jostling and fighting to get their attention further along the rope line.

 

They finally head toward the interviewers and stop for a few, Jake getting most of the questions, he’s such a little charmer and a hit with everyone they speak to and Louis and Harry stand behind him proudly. Louis is so happy Jake is making the most of this unique experience. It’s not many kids who get to walk a red carpet at age eleven, certainly not one where they’re nominated for one of the most prestigious awards on earth.

 

Alice guides them away from the last interviewer who is still giggling to herself after Jake had complimented her on being ‘ _ so shiny and sparkly, just like the stars in the sky _ .’ He’d said it with a wink and a cheeky smile and the poor woman had just about melted into a puddle on the floor.

 

The interior of the Dolby Theatre is certainly a sight to behold, grandeur and opulence seeping from every surface as some of the most famous people in the world mingle and talk amongst themselves. They spend most of their time with the team from the film, everyone buzzed and nervous for what accolades the night might hold for them.

 

They move into the main theatre and Alice escorts them to their seats, second row from the front, Harry on the end, Jake next, and Louis beside him. It’s definitely a different perspective than watching it from home. It’s going to be a long night and Alice brings them some bottled water before giving them a series of instructions about what to do and where to look, what happens if they win and where they’ll go afterward. Louis tries to process everything and it’s a bit nerve-wracking, but Harry just reaches over Jake and rubs Louis’ shoulder. It’s like a salve for his soul and it grounds him, just like Harry’s touch always does.

 

Jake is chattering away with someone from the seats in front of them and it takes a moment for Louis to realize that he’s happily exchanging Australian beach critique with none other than Cate Blanchett, Oscar-winning actress and proud Aussie. Of all the things that have happened today, this is the one that hits home. They’re all just people who, granted, have unusual jobs, but at a base level, they’re still just people, and it makes Louis smile.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Harry asks as he leans over to Louis.

 

“Just… this is amazing, Harry. I’m so glad we came.”

 

“Mmmm… me too,” Harry murmurs, stroking his hand up and down Louis’ forearm.

 

They had talked at length about what, and how much, to be involved in the public promotion of film and the resulting awards season, given Harry’s previous experiences. But ultimately they had decided for Harry, and Jake to a lesser degree, to be part of it. Harry had come so far from the recluse he was when Louis and Jake had first appeared in his life, becoming more open to the world as each day passed. He’d said it was because he had a reason to rejoin the land of the living now that he had Louis and Jake, but it still took time. 

 

Once they had decided to be active participants in the whirlwind of promo season, it was as though the floodgates opened and Harry allowed himself to really enjoy it all. He’s nervous, Louis knows that, he wants to win not only for himself, but for Jake too, but as he gazes at him he sees the man he loves with a sparkle in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face, and it’s clear Harry has finally put the past behind him. Never forgotten, but packed away on a shelf, no longer governing his every move and occupying his thoughts. Harry credits Louis with his renewed vigor for life, but Louis always gently reminds him that  _ he’s _ the one that is living and loving life to the fullest and Louis is merely a willing partner.

 

As each new category is announced, Louis is becoming more and more anxious. They might be the bookies favorite, but the Academy is a fickle group and he knows that nothing is a sure thing. He just wants this so much for them.

 

Jake’s still running on adrenaline and he’s pretty sure he’s going to collapse in a heap as soon as they get back in the car. Actually, they probably all will.

 

When their category is announced Louis freezes, images flash in his head of past shows he’s watched at home and he tries to paste on a nonchalant expression in case the camera catches him in the frame. Cate Blanchett, in addition to being nominated herself, is also presenting this award. Louis hopes it’s a good omen.

 

The orchestra plays sections of the score from each nominated movie and then Cate is pausing, waiting to reveal the winner. It’s all happening so fast and Louis can feel his gut clench. 

 

“...and the winner is…”

 

The room goes quiet and Louis is sure he’s having an out-of-body experience. Everything moves silently and in slow motion, people turning to look at him, Jake on his feet, but there’s still no sound, just a low buzz in Louis’ ears. Cate has her arms in the air, holding the opened envelope high above her head. Someone slaps him in the back from behind and he jolts forward, limbs sloppy and uncoordinated.

 

Harry and Jake come into his field of vision, jubilation written all over their faces. Harry pulls him to his feet and wraps his arms around him tightly, Jake joining in and bouncing up and down. When they break apart, the noise in the theatre comes rushing back into Louis’ ears like a tidal wave and the world speeds back up.

 

“We did it!” Harry shouts and leans in for a kiss, squashing Jake between them.

 

“Oh my god!” Louis screams, finally able to get words out of his mouth. “Go!” He shoves a giggling Harry and ecstatic Jake towards the end of the row of seats, and they take off at a run down the short aisle, bounding up the stairs hand in hand.

 

They receive their awards, kisses, and hugs, and pats on the back exchanged and Louis watches on, barely capable of registering what is happening, when a wave of sheer joy slams into him, tears streaming down his cheeks without warning. He’s never felt anything like it and he brings his fingers to his lips, whistling loudly. Harry and Jake hear him even over the deafening sounds of the crowd, and their smiles are so broad they threaten to split their faces in two.

 

There, on the stage, are the two loves of his life, standing side by side under the blinding lights, Oscars raised up high, and beaming for all the world to see.

 

His son and his piano man.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for choosing to read my little story, I really hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very welcome. xx
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [ jacaranda-bloom ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/) and if you’d like to reblog my [ Tumblr fic post ](https://jacaranda-bloom.tumblr.com/post/186469233158/play-me-a-memory-by-jacaranda-bloom-explicit) that would be lovely!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work you can subscribe [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacaranda_bloom/) to be notified when new works are posted!


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